Cutting Edge
by Mickis
Summary: Raphael confronts a broken Leonardo, who, after their master's death has been carrying a dark secret that's eating him alive: an untold story Splinter shared on his deathbed. Probably the most tragic fic I've ever written.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the ninja turtles, or any character that might've appeared in any of the TMNT universes. I'm not making any money from this, so please don't waste your time in suing me.

**A/N:** _This has been the most emotionally draining story that I've written, to this day. Ironic how it's a Leo story, when the guy's my least favorite. However, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Don't forget to review on the way. Thank you._

_**WARNING:**_ This story contains blood, death and violence. Any reader that feels that he/she is sensitive when it comes to either of these topics, you'll do best by not reading any further. Thank you.

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**CUTTING EDGE**

by

Mickis

**Genre: **Angst/Tragedy

**Language: **English

**Rating: **PG13

**Summary**_ Raphael confronts a broken Leonardo, who, after their master's death has been carrying a dark secret that's eating him alive; an untold story Splinter shared on his deathbed. (Probably the darkest and most tragic fic I've ever written)._

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**Chapter 1**

The turtle's tired feet climbed down the ladder to his underground home, his worn hands gripping the cold steel of the poles. Raphael had just returned from his nightly patrol, which, as of late, seemed to take place almost every single night. He needed something to take out his anger on. Something to take his mind off of the hollow home he always returned to.

At the end of the pneumonia, Splinter hadn't taken up much space among them, but after he died he left an emptiness no one could fill. Even though it was only six months ago since the tragic event took place, Raph felt like years had passed. Because he felt so much older, they all did. The death of the person that was not only their master, but their father as well, had matured them more than any amount of years ever could. They had grown up overnight.

They were forced to.

He stepped down onto the concrete floor, his feet touching solid ground as he gazed out over the darkened living room.

It was so quiet.

He knew for a fact that his oldest brother was the only one home, which could explain the silence. But that wasn't it. There was something else about the quiet lair that bothered Raphael. The deafening silence was unnerving, almost eerie.

Raph felt like his every sense was running on full power. Tense worry hung in the air of his home, causing the little voice in the turtle's head to call out in alert, warning him.

Something was definitely up.

He descended the stairway leading down to the main platform, where the old duck taped couch stood, facing the beat up TV set of the household. The light was on in the kitchen subcar, but there was no one there. Nothing but silence. And all the other subcars were dark, even the bathroom, which stood open for invitation.

Raphael's watchful eyes travelled down the darkened sets of train carriages, until finally, at the far end of the platform, he discovered a car where a faint light flickered.

It was Splinter's carriage.

None of them had been in there since they cleaned it out, leaving only the furniture and a few of his most precious belongings. It was still too painful. Even as they walked past it on their way to the dojo it hurt them, like a stab to the heart. So why would Leo go in there now? What made _this_ night any different from the ones before it?

Raphael contemplated on leaving his brother alone and retreating to his own room, but his curiosity got the better of him. Plus there was also something else tugging on his attention. Worry perhaps? He warily set off in Leonardo's direction, his pace speeding up the closer to the subcar he got.

He stopped for a moment when reaching up to the subcar doors, listening for any sounds. As he looked through the broken glass window he noticed shadows from a candlelight flickering against the wall, proving that someone was indeed in there. Because no one would be stupid enough to leave a lit candle, let alone Leo.

Raphael was never one to knock, except for when it came to Splinter, but he wasn't around anymore. So the turtle simply slid the doors open and stepped inside.

His older brother sat on the floor by the far end of the car, his shell turned towards him. A few candles were lit around him, their dancing flames surrounding him. He looked like he was meditating, because he was sitting cross-legged on one of their master's pillows, his posture filling the room with a calm only Leo could display. He never moved as Raphael stepped inside, but it was obvious he'd noticed his presence. He seemed aware of pretty much everything at that moment.

"You shouldn't be here," the oldest turtle said after a moment of silence had passed. He almost sounded a little annoyed, and yet, his voice held a trace of remorse.

"Neitha' should you," Raphael replied, taking in the details of his father's room, memories coming back to him. Painful memories.

Leonardo lifted his head, as if staring at the wall straight ahead of him, before his calm voice spoke yet again, "I really think you should leave, Raph."

"Why?" his response came. "Ye hidin' somethin'?"

The question was met with silence, and Raph felt waves of shame coming off of his brother. A pang of worry hit him.

"Leo?" Raph insisted, his voice much weaker than he had intended.

"Please," Leo said, his voice still patient. "You need to leave."

"Like hell I will!" the red masked turtle snapped as he walked deeper into the room, leaving the door open behind him. Leo remained on the pillow as his persistent brother approached him, his gaze focused on the wall in front of him.

Raphael stopped on Leo's left side as he reached up to him, his eyes immediately going to the glint of steel lying in front of him. "Shit," he breathed, shock washing over him like a bucket of cold water.

The situation just turned serious.

Leonardo hung his head in shame, feeling his brother's eyes burning a hole in his skin.

"The hell d'ya think yer doin!" Raphael demanded when he found his voice again. "Have ya fuckin' lost it!" He stared intently on his older brother, impatiently waiting for some sort of reaction as desperation clung onto him.

Leo slowly turned his head to the side to be able to meet Raph's dark eyes, the shadows from the candles dancing across his face in the darkness. "I'm sorry," he finally said, shamefully breaking the eye contact.

"Yer.. Yer sorry?" Raphael repeated, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. "What the hell's wrong with you? Ya juz locked yerself in here, hoping I wouldn't get back until ya were _finished_?" His voice was mixed with panic and fury.

But Leo didn't answer, he simply started at his lap, his shoulders slowly dropping.

"Get ova' yerself, Leo," Raph spat, shaking his head in disapproval. "What the hell gives _you_ the right? Huh?" He paused for a second, angrily licking his lips. "You don't think _we_'re in pain? You think yer the only one who misses him? Don't be so fuckin' selfish, dammit."

Still, there was no answer from Leo. His dead eyes were still facing downwards, guilt-ridden.

"What d'ya think Mikey would say if he saw ye now?" Raph asked, his voice a little calmer. "His big brother, the mighty Fearless Leader, buried in his own self-pity. Do ya have any idea what this would do ta him?" he asked, waiting for some sort of answer. But just like before, none came. "Y'know what?" His face twisted with disgust as he rested his eyes on his brother. "Yer makin' me sick. For you ta actually plan somethin' like this.. I..." He trailed off, at loss for words as he studied the scene before him. "It's disgusting."

There were candles position around Leo, and judging by the height of the candle wax, they seemed to have been burning for a good half-hour. On each side of the ninja laid his katana, the two items he valued the most. And placed in front of him, a few feet away, was a folded piece of paper. All of this together led Raph to a scary conclusion. But what really convinced him of the gravity of the situation, was the shorter sword placed right in front of his big brother.

The blade was about forty-five centimetres long, the glistening steal resembling Leo's katana a great deal. The black grip of the weapon was decorated with elements of gilt. Giving it a much more expensive look where it laid, unsheathed on the subcar floor.

It was a wakizashi. Leo had used it in practice but never in real combat. The sword had a shorter blade compared to its kin - the katana. It purpose was to replace the long katana, where the ceiling might be too low. Or you could carry it as a spare, in case the katana got lost or damaged in battle. But Leo never did this since he had twin katana. However, there was also another purpose for the wakizashi, a purpose that chilled Raph to the core.

It was used in the Japanese ritual called 'seppuku,' the act of committing suicide in the name of bushido.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The deserted subcar no one had visited since the late ninja master's funeral was suddenly filled with energy again. Energy of a brotherly confrontation one of the two would rather avoid altogether. The oldest brother kept his head lowered, escaping the red masked turtle's judgmental stare. The burning candles that surrounded the oldest caused his shadow to flicker on the wall in front of him, dancing in the silence.

Raphael still kept his gaze focused on Leo, trying to anticipate what he might do or say. Normally, Raph knew exactly how to push his brother's buttons, but this time his words didn't seem to have any affect on the leader. He remained on the floor, staring aimlessly down at his own lap, looking as if he was the loneliest person in the world. And perhaps he was. Because the events of the night led Raph to fear that he didn't know his brother anymore.

He was furious, with both Leo and himself. Because how could he have not known?

"What?" Raph questioned, crossing his arms on his plastron, looking down at the other turtle. "Yer not even gonna talk ta me?" He paused to give his sibling a chance to answer, but still none came. "C'mon, Leo, there's gotta be somethin' ya hafta say in yer defence. Cuz I'd sure like ta hear it."

Leonardo uncomfortably fiddled with his hands, as though he was contemplating on what to answer. But as the seconds passed, there still came no words from the blue masked ninja. He remained locked within himself.

"Well?" Raphael urged, titling his head to his left shoulder. "What's the matter? Ya don't have a good reason for tryin' ta kill yerself? Cuz I don't know if ya heard, but you only get one chance at suicide, so in yer case, I really hope it's worth it."

No answer.

The red clad turtle drew in a frustrated breath, shaking his head in disbelief. And as he looked back at Leo, ready to beat him up some more, he noticed something he rarely saw on his brother's face - a tear. A lonely teardrop, silently sliding down Leonardo's cheek, clinging onto his chin until letting go entirely and falling upon the green skin of his left upper hand, slowly travelling towards the edge of it.

But Leo remained in the same position, never moving a muscle, never speaking a word. He wasn't crying because he wanted sympathy. That one tear wasn't meant for anyone to see. And Raph could tell his big brother was doing everything in his power to keep the rest of them from falling. He was holding back.

"What?" Raph asked, his voice not as loud. "_Now_ you cry? Think about how you'd leave us after you've sliced yer guts. What about yer family! You think it makes it okay juz cuz ya leave a note? You think that would help?" He cried, causing his brother to lower his head some more. "I'm tellin' ya Leo, the tears ya shed now won't look like much compared ta ones Mike'll be cryin'. And it's not like ye'll be aroun' ta comfort him. No, ya juz love 'em and leave 'em. Ain't that how it works?" He angrily stared at the turtle before him, feeling his temper boiling up within him. "Huh? I deserve a fuckin' answer, Leo! So ya better damn well give me one!"

"You weren't supposed to see this," Leo spoke, his voice worn down by the weight of the tears he was trying to control.

"What was that?" Raph questioned, not sure he had heard his brother right.

"I said," Leo started with a stronger voice, wiping off the trail of his tear as he looked up at his brother, his eyes filled with shame. "You weren't supposed to see this."

Raphael released a shocked breath. Barely believing the words as he heard them; the nerve to say something like that.

"It's not like I _wanna_ put you through this, any of you," Leo added, boring his glossy eyes into his brother's angry glare. "Things were supposed to go easier." He held eye contact, waiting for Raph to respond. And after a moment of silence had passed, he did,

"Easia'?" Raphael repeated with a low voice. "For us?" he questioned, his eyes darkening. "Or for yerself?"

Leonardo's features didn't move, he simply swallowed once before opening his mouth to speak, "You have no right to judge me," he said, shocking his brother a second time with his answer.

"Don't fuckin' tell me I have no right!" Raph outburst, not being able to hold back the fury that flared up. "This affects me _juz_ as much as it does you! Even more than you! Who d'ya think would hafta take care a' this? Who d'ya think would come home and find one of our own dead?" he yelled, for a moment picturing Leo's dead, bleeding body in front of him. The scene he would have walked in on, had he come home later than he did. It was only a matter of minutes. Minutes that made an enormous difference to him and his family.

"Don't you think I know all that!" Leo yelled, trying to overpower his brother's voice. "Don't you think I've thought about it? I've imagined _every_ possible scenario! I've pictured _all_ of them in my head! So don't come here and act like I don't know what I'm doing! Cuz you have no idea. You don't know _any_thing!"

"And what? You think that makes it okay?" Raph questioned, taking a step closer to his seated brother. "It doesn't make a difference, Leo! Yer still screwin' us over!"

"Not intentionally!" Leo cried, his voice breaking at the strong volume he was using.

"Does it matter?" Raph argued, causing his older brother to once again fall silent.

Leo broke away from Raph's eyes, staring at the hands he kept in his lap, restlessly playing with his thumbs. "Tell me something, Raph," he then said, his voice back to just above a whisper. "Do you honestly believe I'd be doing this.. was there another way?"

Raphael eagerly opened his mouth to answer, realizing he didn't know what to say. It was one of the few times in his life that he was truly speechless. Instead he studied his brother where he sat, head lowered in shame; carrying a burden none of them had known about, or even suspected. Right in the safety of their own home.

"I don't _want_ to die, you know," Leonardo whispered, glancing at the wakizashi in front of him.

"No one's forcin' ya," Raphael said, anger still mastering his voice.

"I am," the answer came. Leo looked up at his brother, his eyes filled with tears. His heart worn down with burdens.

"Why?" Raph asked, his tone of voice very demanding. "Wha'd'ya do?"

Leo broke away to look at the wall in front of him, deep in thought from his brother's question. After a few silent seconds had passed, he finally answered, "Actually... I'd rather not say."

"I'm not givin' ya a choice," Raphael said, his tone mirroring the firm look he had in his eyes, keeping them focused on Leo, trying to read his body language. His mind unconsciously tried to think of reasons why his brother would do this. But no matter how he tossed or turned on the situation, he always came up with the same guess. "Is it Splinter?"

Leo woefully closed his eyes, as if stung by the very sound of the name. In that instant Raph knew he had hit his head on the nail. Of course it was Splinter. Leo hadn't been the same since the death of their father. Yet, there was still something thing that didn't quite add up.

Leo was a strong person, much stronger than he gave himself credit for. And he had devoted himself to his responsibilities, always trying to do the right thing as a Leader. So then why would he take his own life, just for the sake of missing another?

_Unless_... Raph thought, his mind stepping into another direction. _Unless he knows somethin' we don't._

With this thought in mind, Raph gave his brother a second look, observing him through new eyes. It suddenly became clear to him that his brother had been carrying something they had not. A burden he was set to wear on his own. He had been a wreck for months, and it was easy to assume it was because of their father's death. But looking at him now, through a different perspective, Raphael knew it was more to it than that.

"What about him?" Raph asked, cutting straight to the point. "Leo," he urged, his voice rising a little, just like some of his patience dissipated. "What about Splinter?"

The older brother kept his eyes on the wall, staring at a Japanese cloth that hung there. The fabric carried the image of a calm forest, something they had kept in the memory of their father.

"Remember the night he died?" Leo finally said, still staring at the cloth, speaking as though he was talking through a dream.

"Yeah.." Raph replied, furrowing his eye ridges in suspicion.

"It was our watch that night," Leo continued, recalling the incident in his mind's eye. "He woke up.. " he trailed off, his face twisting in pain at the memory. "After he got worse... he asked you to go and wake Don and Mikey, remember?"

"What about it?" Raphael pushed, wanting his brother to open up faster. He knew the story. He was there; living it. Going through it a second time would be pointless. He had asked Leo for answers, and he wanted them immediately.

Leo turned to look at his hands, nervously fiddling with them. "When you were gone..." his whispers trailed off and he folded his hands together, as if to get control of himself. After taking in another breath, he continued; this time a little louder, "He told me something when we were alone..."

"What?" Raph asked, barely breathing, his every sense focused on the warrior in front of him. "What, Leo?" he insisted. "Whad'he say?"

Leonardo turned his head around, baring his watery eyes to his brother.

The red masked turtle unconsciously crouched down, meeting his brother's hazel brown eyes on the same level. He didn't say anything, yet his eyes asked the leader to begin. To share that moment he spent with their dying father. A moment that took place in the very room they sat in, six months ago at a night just like this one. That one night that changed it all.

And so the story unveiled itself...


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Six months earlier, August 28th; 2:47 a.m._

Pneumonia can be a scary thing. With a young, healthy person it should pass on its own. But when attacking a smaller child or an old man, like my father, the outcome can be dire. And it can happen so fast. Much too fast for those around to grasp. One moment they would get sick, and then as the next one comes... they'd be dying.

The nights were always the hardest. He'd wake up constantly, choking on his own mucus. And the few quiet moments he didn't cough his lungs up, I would sit there and stare at him, trying to see if he was breathing or not.

I hated those dark nights. And lately I'd been fearing there would come one he wouldn't live through. I feared one of those nights would take him away from me and start the new day without him.

We took turns in watching him, my brothers and I. And so as I sat there on his bedside, in the darkened subcar, Raphael sat on a chair across from me, watching over him from the other side of the bed. The room was filled with sickness. Sickness, fear and bitter thoughts. A morbid atmosphere hung in the air, hovering over us like a thick fog. Too thick for any of us to break through. And as the disease progressed, the dull fog slowly spread itself across the rest of lair, until there wasn't a single room that wasn't covered with it.

I caught Raph staring at me, the one lit candle in the room lightening up parts of his face, while most of it was kept hidden in the shadows. Much like he kept his feelings - hidden. He had his arms crossed on his chest, a very common image of him, as he looked at me from across the bed. His gaze was steady, solid. And his eyes had a look I was yet to mirror - acceptance.

The only sound between us was Splinter's wheezing, his sweaty chest rising with each struggled breath; draining him on more energy. And so we sat there, staring at each other, none of us speaking a word, or even making the slightest effort to do so.

I felt like he was trying to wear me down with his eyes, forcing me to accept what he already had. We weren't there to care for our father, at least not the way I wanted us to. Because in my mind, we were there to heal him and help him back to the life he led before. But Raphael's bitter look told me he thought otherwise. He knew why the two of us sat there, why we stayed awake - night after night. We were simply there to help him and keep him as comfortable as the situation would let us.

If nothing else, we were there to support him, even if it was the only thing we could offer in the end.

Our eye contact was suddenly broken as Sensei stirred in his sleep, his body cramping in pain. Our attention was immediately directed to him, and it didn't take long for me to get up from my chair. I leaned over him, affectionately caressing him on his furry, sweaty forehead, fear building up inside of me when I realized how much warmer his touch felt underneath my hand.

His fever was out of control.

I sent Raph a critic glance to let him know how serious the situation had turned, before I reached for the bowl of water on the nightstand beside me. I picked up the soaked cloth and wrung it with my hands, the tepid water pressing out between my fingers.

"It's lukewarm," I said as I tenderly applied the cloth to his burning forehead. "You've gotta go and get some new water," I ordered, holding out the glass bowl for Raph to take.

He wordlessly accepted it and hurried out from the subcar, leaving the two of us alone.

I turned back to my father, studying his features as they twisted in pain. For a moment, I wondered how much he understood. Was the fever too far gone or did he know that he was dying?

I froze at the thought, my hand clutching the towel in fear.

It was the first time I admitted to myself that he wasn't going to make it, that he really _was_ dying. Up until that moment, I had never even allowed myself to think it, as if it might come true if I did.

He suddenly started coughing, his body convulsing during the attack. Sometimes, he would get the attacks in his sleep, too tired to even wake up from them. But this one was really bad. He woke up from the lack of air, terror visible in his worn, runny eyes.

_Perhaps he does know_, I thought, suppressing the thought as fast as it appeared. There was no time for thoughts. He needed help. I could always worry later.

I lifted him up into a seated position, his body cramping in my embrace as I held onto him. The only thing I could hear was the rattling sound in his chest, his phlegm stuck in his trachea, keeping him from taking a proper breath of air into his aching lungs. His slender fingers gripped onto my upper arms, the nails cutting into my skin. It would've hurt, had I been in any other situation. But as the tragic moment swallowed me whole - it didn't.

The sound of his coughing echoed in my ear, where he rested his head. But I didn't care, because I was relieved to hear the phlegm in his windpipe break free, some of it coming up in his mouth. I held him closer to me, one of my hands gently caressing him on his sweaty back.

"It's okay, Sensei," I hushed, hoping my touch was comforting him in some way. "You're okay."

I felt his warm, rugged breath against my neck, some of it blowing in my ear. But even if the attack was over, his body remained tense. Because he was still scared, just like I was.

I heard Raph's footsteps coming from outside and as I looked up, my father's head leaning against my shoulder for support, I saw him appear in the doorway with the glass bowl in his hands. It was obvious he had heard the coughing from the kitchen. Because I noticed a dreaded look in his eyes, one that quickly transformed into relief when he realized our father was able to breathe again.

I motioned with my eyes towards the bedside table next to me, still keeping my arms around Splinter. So Raph hurried into the subcar and circled the foot of the bed, coming up behind me where he set the bowl down.

I adjusted the sweaty pillows with one hand, still holding onto Sensei with the other, before I gently leaned him against the pillows. Even as I laid him on the bed he clung to me, as though he was fearing the worst if he were to let go.

"It's okay," I whispered, my face a few inches from his as I looked him straight in the eyes. "I'm here."

I noticed his features relax a little, his eyelids dropping slightly as he released me, putting his hands on the covers, which I began to adjust. But then I thought the better of it; we needed to get his temperature down. He had to cool off. So I loosed the sheets, making sure he wasn't tucked in all the way up to his chest.

"Where's the...?" Raphael asked from behind me. As I turned my head around to look at him I realized he was talking about the cloth.

"I dunno.." I mumbled, turning back to search the bed. "I had it a few seconds ago..." My hands frantically fumbled over the sheets, trying to find the towel in the darkness. Panic often came afterwards in a situation like this, when there was time for it.

"Wait," Raph said and bent down towards the floor. When he got back up he held the cloth in his hands. It must've gotten tossed to the floor during Splinter's attack. He dipped it in the bowl, soaking it in cold water and wringed it; allowing the drops of water to land upon the smooth water surface in the glass bowl; creating rings of water that slowly expanded in the bowl.

I moved aside to let him attend to our sick master, observing him as he gently dabbed the towel on his forehead, Splinter closing his eyes at the touch. I realized then, as I watched Raphael caring for our father, that there was a lot more to him than he would let onto. Underneath that hard shell of his, a gentle person hid. It was a real shame he only surfaced in situations like these.

Raph glanced at me when he turned around to soak the towel and, for some reason, I felt like I was barging in on his privacy. Like I had done something wrong. So I stepped around the bed and sat down in the chair Raph had used earlier, scooting it closer to Sensei.

My red clad brother placed the cloth on Splinter's forehead, leaving it there in hopes that the cold water would ease his fever. Sensei was still breathing heavily, every single muscle in his body tired from the attack. I gently reached out my hand for his, taking his warm paw in mine. I felt him squeeze my hand a little, as if telling me he appreciated the gesture, but his eyes remained closed.

I looked up at Raph, our eyes meeting swiftly in the darkness, before he broke away to sit down in the chair I occupied a few minutes ago. Then, when gently using my thumb to stroke the hair on my father's hand, I caught Raphael staring at me again - his gaze as solid as before. A part of him looked sad, yet, another part of him looked like he accepted that, as though he had been living with the feeling for a long time.

It's one of the scarier things about him. Whether you're ready or not, you always see the truth when you look into his eyes. He has always been the one that comes to terms with things sooner than the rest of us. I guess that's why he appears to be so pessimistic, because he never sugarcoats the truth.

He just accepts it for what it is.

The moment was suddenly interrupted as I felt Sensei squeeze my hand, and when I turned to look at him, so did Raph.

His eyes were half open, a thick liquid having soaked the fur around them. He tiredly panted for air, but his chest barely rose with the rhythm, as if he was fighting for each breath he took. He weakly clicked his tongue, preparing to speak, and that single action alone caused the both of us to focus our every sense on him, like he was about to unveil the sacred meaning of life to us.

"Raphael.." he wheezed, slightly turning his head to look at the son in question.

Raph carefully leaned closer, his eyes asking Splinter to continue. I think our old father could've asked him of anything in that moment, because no matter what he said, Raph wouldn't have been able to deny him.

Splinter took a few strained breaths, keeping his dull gaze fixated on Raph until he found the strength to talk, "I need you to.. fetch.. your brothers," he breathed, gasping for air in-between words.

Raphael mutely nodded, well aware of why Splinter felt the need to have all of his sons present. So after sending me a swift glance, Raph rose from his chair and exited the room to wake up our siblings. Left in the carriage, with the fatal announcement hanging over us, were Splinter and myself; sensei and student; rat and turtle... father and son.

I wanted to stop the night from ending, keep the morning from coming. And I felt like I wanted to cry. But for some reason there came no tears.

I was numb.

He then turned his head around, tiredly rolling over on the pillow, and searched my frozen eyes for contact. When I felt his paw weekly squeeze at my hand for attention, I instantly turned to look at him, feeling slightly guilty that I wasn't a hundred percent present, like I had promised myself I would. I suppose in situations like these, you can't control your reactions to the fullest. You can merely deal with them as they come.

"Leonardo.." he panted, his eyes blinking in slow motion, much like every other move of his that night. "..my son."

I cupped his paw with both my hands, trying to comfort him with my eyes to the best I could. "Sensei, I'm here.." I whispered, slowly rubbing my thumb against his furry knuckles. "Try and relax. They'll be here any minute."

His chest rose at the fight for air, his lungs collapsing within him. "I apologize," he mumbled, his eyes welling up with tears.

"You have nothing to apologize for," I told him, figuring it was his fever and fear talking.

He weakly shook his head in disagreement, trying to get me to understand . Whatever it was that he was trying to tell me, it was obviously troubling him. "Before your brothers return.." he breathed, lifting his other hand to cup it over mine, "..there is something you must know."

"Okay." I nodded faintly, moving one of my hands to caress the one he held on top of mine; giving him my full attention.

"I've been... I've lied to you," he said, keeping his eyes locked on mine, guilt reflecting in them. "You must know.." he trailed off, having used up the most of the air he stored in his lungs. He closed his eyes in defeat, drawing back his ears.

"It's okay.." I whispered as he fought to catch his breath, to once again regain control over himself. "Take your time:" I tried to calm him with my hands, continuously stroking his.

He soon opened his eyes, still very focused on breathing. Then he caught me with his teary stare, "There was another one," he said, blinking slowly as he held my gaze. "When I found you.. there was another one.."

"Another what?" I gently asked him, trying to put together what seemed like random words to me. I assumed it was his fever talking, because he didn't make any sense. Then again - nothing had for days.

"There were five of you," he revealed, clicking his tongue in his mouth, his thick saliva sticking his lips together for a short moment.

I narrowed my eyes in confusion, trying to understand what he was trying so hard to tell me. It didn't make any sense.

He must've noticed my confusion, because he placed one of his hands on top of mine, keeping me from stroking him and earning my attention. He urgently bore his eyes into mine, needing me to understand, until he finally opened his mouth to speak again, "Five turtles," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

His message finally hit me, causing my eyes to widen in shock. _Five?_ I asked myself, my mind trying to grasp the news. But how could that be? And how come he waited all this time to tell me about it?

I was at loss for words.

"I'm sorry, Leonardo," he whispered, squeezing his hand on top of mine. "I do apologize, but..." He faintly broke his stare - if only for a second looking up at the ceiling - before his eyes returned to mine. "You must know this."

"What do you mean, Sensei?" I asked, a little surprised I was able to say anything at all. I still wasn't sure I understood him correctly. It just didn't make any sense. How could there be five of us? And if there were... why would he keep such a thing from us? Why wait all this time to tell me?

"After I found you.." Splinter continued, his every word a struggle for air, using up the last amount of strength inside of him. "Before you got your names.. It was so hard," he murmured, his tears beginning to flood his eyes. "I had nothing.. You depended on me t-to feed you and I... I had nothing."

I held his hands tighter, my heart aching when I saw him like this; crying, fighting against time.

"You became skinny..." he said, the fur beneath his eyes wet from his tears, "underfed, and I.." he trailed off, closing his eyes in agony. "My best wasn't enough for you."

I felt my heart beating faster, my pulse racing inside of me. I couldn't move or speak. I couldn't do anything - except listen. I was so drawn in by his frail, emotional words. In that moment, nothing else existed.

"You got sick, and I..." he trailed off, opening his eyes slowly, his eyelids still heavy. "I had to make a decision.." he wheezed, his body tensing as he started coughing again.

I moved in closer, putting my left hand behind his neck to support him and clear his windpipe. I felt his body shake in my embrace, his hands gripping mine in panic. He felt so warm.

Dangerously warm.

Luckily this attack didn't last very long, but it still left him panting for air, trying to find his voice to speak again.

"You have to rest," I told him, leaning him back down again, making sure he wasn't wearing any covers.

"No," he refused, firmly locking his eyes on mine, not backing down even the slightest. "You must listen," he breathed. "You must know this."

"Okay," I mouthed, unable to make a sound. I sat back down in the chair, scooting it as close to the bed as I possible could, taking both of his hands in mine. Once the two of us found eye contact again, he continued with his confession,

"One of you.." he began, trying to catch his breath. "One was smaller than the rest.. frailer.." He swallowed hard, squeezing his hand in mine, which I tenderly squeezed back, removing one of my hands to fetch the cloth that landed on the covers when he sat up to cough.

"I had to.." he murmured, closing his eyes at the memory, looking as if he could break into to sobs right then and there.

"It's okay," I whispered, putting the moist towel back on his forehead, just above his eyes.

Splinter tiredly shook his head, opening his eyes after a few seconds, aiming them at me. "In order to save some of you.. to keep you alive.." his voice broke off, the tears beginning to have their affect on his vocal cords. He took a ragged breath to compose himself, boring his tired, black eyes into mine before he bitterly whispered, "I had to starve him."

My heart stopped inside my chest, even if it only was for a mere second. Had I heard him right? Did he actually just tell me that he starved one of us to death? One of my siblings? It was just so hard to picture it. My master - my _father_ - doing something like that to a defenceless baby, even tough I understood why he did. But to make such a choice...

He must have noticed the change in me, because he suddenly started to explain himself, "I had to. You must understand, my son," he pleaded, his eyes wavering back and forth in desperation. "I had to focus on those with the greatest chance of survival. You must understand the circumstances. He was too frail.. so small."

"Why?" I asked, a little harsher than I had intended. Because even if I understood his choice, a part of me despised him for it. It was a strange feeling, one I had never felt towards my father before.

He looked at me with horrified eyes, as if it had been the reaction he had feared.

"Why're you telling me this now?" I wondered, still holding onto his hands, images of what might have been flashing in my head. "Why me?"

"Because," he breathed, boring his guilt-ridden eyes into mine, "it is you, Leonardo, I chose to be their leader. You have to look out for them when I'm gone."

I furrowed my eye ridges in confusion. "I don't understand.. Why are you telling me this? Why not Raph? Why not the others?" I shook my head in disbelief, trying to rid my mind of the horrible images that played out themselves. Images of a starving sibling among us, a fading creature that the rest of us pecked on - like animals. Like birds.

I felt him faintly squeeze my hand, the action causing me to focus all me senses on him again. He tiredly licked his lips, breathing heavily as he opened his mouth to explain, "As their leader, you will be forced to make hard decisions," he said. "Unfair decisions."

I didn't like the direction this was going.

"I pray such a situation will never show itself," he continued, blinking slowly; weakly. "But should it happen, you might have to chose between your brothers."

"What?" I cried, my voice getting caught in my throat at the shock. "Master, I couldn't-"

"You can," he insisted, encouraging me by squeezing my hands as he looked into my eyes. "You might have to."

I shook my head, disgusted with both him and myself that he could even bring it up.

"In battle," he wheezed, moving his face a little closer to me, "you might not always have the chance to help all of your brothers. You may have to sacrifice one.. in order to save two."

A shiver went down my spine at the cruel word. _Sacrifice._ How could I possibly sacrifice one of my brothers? Even if it was to save two of them?

"You must know this," Splinter continued, noticing I wasn't as perceptive to his words anymore. "As a leader, you must be prepared for this, should such a situation arise."

"I can't," I murmured, a lump beginning to build up in my throat, tears starting to sting my eyes. It was all too much to take. The news of a dead sibling, the fear of myself letting it happen to another. I could never do what he did. I just couldn't. And who was _I_ to decide who should or shouldn't live? What made me worthy?

"I am sorry, my son," he whispered, tears soaking his fur as he looked at me. "The leader must always carry the heaviest burden." He paused for a moment. "I hope you understand that.. that I did what I had to do. I might have lost you all."

I met his remorseful gaze through blurry eyes, my tears about to fall.

Then, without any sings warning me, he burst into fits of coughs, his entire body cramping from the immense power.

I quickly reached over to help him, supporting his back to sit him up. He desperately clung to my shoulders as he searched for a chance to breathe, gasping in-between coughs. I fearfully embraced him, my arms easily reaching around his frail body. Soon I heard footsteps behind me, Mikey's voice calling out for our father,

"Master Splinter?" Worry, sadness and fear oozed off of it.

"Give him to me," Don said, stepping up beside me and reaching out for our old Sensei. I mutely stepped aside, figuring he handled this better than I did. He held him in a sitting position, pressing his ear to his back, listening to his lungs. "They're clogged," he said, fear dripping off of his voice. "He can't breathe."

Splinter desperately tried to inhale, the fierce coughing only causing him to choke on his breath before it even had a chance to reach his lungs. Tears practically shot from his black eyes.

"Sensei!" Mike screamed, pushing himself past me to reach him.

"Stay back," Raph said, grabbing Mikey's arms from behind, pulling him back to him. "Donnie knows what he's doin'." He supportively held onto Mike, both pair of eyes fixated on our choking father, whom Donatello desperately tried to help.

Michelangelo's face was the pure look of fear, barely breathing _himself_ as the rattling sound echoed in the dark, crowded subcar. But then, as I turned to look at Raphael, I saw something completely different. Even though he too displayed fear, his fingers clutching Mikey's arms to the point of stopping his blood circulation, his eyes had the same look as before.

Acceptance.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_August 28th; 5:02 a.m._

The morning was creeping closer, yet the darkness still remained. Of course, it was always dark down in the sewers, but this kind of darkness was different. Because I was used to darkness. I'm ninja, I take advantage of the darkness and hide in the shadows. However, this time I felt like the darkness was taking advantage of _me_.

Never before had I felt so lonely in the darkness, so abandoned.

I sat in my chair in the corner of Splinter's carriage, obsessively biting on one of the fingernails on my right hand, staring aimlessly at the lifeless body that laid on the bed. My brothers left the room hours ago, each in a different state. And it wasn't long after that that the candle burned out; leaving me in pitch-black darkness.

The only source of light was the one that came in through the open subcar door, from the platform outside. There wasn't anyone out there, but someone must have left a faint light on. Just enough for me to make out the silhouette of my father's frozen features on the bed, his closed eyes facing upwards. He wore his hands on his chest, one upon the other, and Donnie had put on him his covers again. There was no need to keep him cold anymore. I guess there wasn't any need to keep him warm either, it just seemed like the humane thing to do.

I don't know for how long I'd been sitting there. After his heart stopped and Don declared him dead, Mikey completely lost it and burst into tears, throwing himself on top of the corpse. Donnie cried too, but his goodbye was a little more civilized than Mike's, not that I hold it against him. Everyone has a right to have a reaction. Raph, however, he didn't seem very comfortable with me sitting there, so he just left the room. No goodbye, no nothing. He just left me there, in the chair where I still sat, never once taking my eyes off of his body.

I could hear their voices from the living room, Don's murmuring words trying to bring Michelangelo comfort. I think Raph just locked himself inside his room. But as the hours passed, the voices eventually faded out, leaving me utterly alone with my thoughts.

And what thoughts they were...

I had lost so much in just that one night. My father, a sibling I didn't know about and my self-respect. How could I ever do what my master did? How could I choose? Then again, if I didn't, what kind of a leader would I be? Leaving all my brothers to die, when that one choice could help me save at least two of them - like Splinter saved _us_, all those years ago.

A part of me wondered why I even bothered to think about it. Who's to say such a situation would ever happen? Maybe I was just torturing myself for no reason. But on the other hand, if it _did_ happen - could I honestly handle the pressure and make that choice? Could I really be the leader my master shaped me out to be?

I wasn't sure anymore - and that scared me. Although, I wasn't sure on what scared me the most. Failing as a leader and leaving all of them to die, or failing as a brother and choosing between them.

No matter what I did... I'd still lose.

"You're still up?"

I looked up at the entrance, startled by the my brother's sudden voice. I must have been in pretty deep thought, because no one rarely caught me off guard, least of all my brothers. We usually picked up on one another's presence. It came with the bond we shared as brothers.

"...yeah," I answered, for a moment meeting Donatello's concerned eyes across the room. Without another word said, I turned back to stare at the bed, like I had done the entire night.

Don glanced at the floor as he placed his left hand on the door frame, leaning slightly on it. "I thought maybe you'd fallen asleep.." he mumbled, his eyes magnetically drawn to the fallen body tucked in on the bed.

I looked at him, realizing he visited me in my state of loneliness in search of some company. I lowered my hand as I studied him, deciding I had done enough fingernail chewing for one night. "I'm not really tired," I answered, causing him to look back at me.

"You sure?" he asked, a broken smile pulling at his mouth. "I'm exhausted. I just can't sleep."

I faintly returned the smile, understanding we weren't that different after all. He then broke the eye contact as his eyes travelled back to the bed, and I couldn't help but do the same. The body hadn't moved an inch since the last breath passed his lips, which , oddly enough surprised me a little. Because he looked like he was just sleeping. Although, he looked more peaceful than what he'd done the last few weeks, this kind of slumber being much deeper than any other. He wasn't in any pain anymore, so I guess at least that was a good thing.

Not that it mattered so much at the time.

"I uh, I came to see if maybe you wanted some tea?" Donnie murmured, carefully glancing at me with one eye, nervously tapping on the door frame.

I thought about the proposal, about leaving the safety of room - and everything it represented. I was a little surprised to find my brother's proposition appealing to me. Up until that moment, I hadn't even thought about leaving the carriage. "Um... sure," I replied, slowly nodding to myself.

Don confirmed by answering with a nod before he turned and left, apparently a little relived to leave the shell of our sensei. Donatello had always been the one to stitch us up whenever we got hurt. The thought of him reacting like this to a dead body had never occurred to me. I guess the body being our father made the situation different. Still, it surprised me a little. I guess we looked at him like a doctor in these kind of situations, instead of the person he was.

I shot one last look at the bed before I rose from the chair, discovering that both of my legs had fallen asleep. They stung like a thousand needles and it was hard to straighten them out properly, nevertheless I made it out of bedroom without further trouble.

The living room was a mess. The only source of light was the yellow, old lamp on top of the television set, apart from the light that came from the kitchen. There were crumpled balls of toilet paper lying on the coffee table and on the cushions of the couch. I could only assume they belonged to Mikey, who, from what I could tell, must have gone to bed. The morbid feeling which had poisoned the air of our home the last couple of weeks, had been replaced with a sense of death. No matter where you turned or what you did, the feeling still followed you; hanging over your shoulder like a bad smell.

I wordlessly followed my brother into the kitchen, where he stood by the stove, pouring the hot water into a porcelain mug. My eyes travelled to the wooden kitchen table, where no one had dined for days. Whenever someone got something to eat, they did it in secret, as if it was a sin to live on with your life while someone else's was running out. I walked up to the table and pulled out a chair, silently sitting myself down, face turned to the stove.

Donatello turned around with the mug in his hands. He grabbed the tea carton on the counter and went over to me; placing the two things in front of me. I hesitantly reached for a tea-bag as Don turned back to the counter to grab a mug for himself. He sat down in the seat in front of me, glancing at me for a moment before he lifted the teapot to poor the steaming liquid into his mug. I listened intently as the hot jet of water filled up the porcelain mug, the soothing sound filling up the entire kitchen with an eerie sense of calm that couldn't last long.

I caught him glance at me and I quickly turned to lower the bag of tea into my mug, carefully dipping it in the water, very much aware of his watchful eyes. I didn't want to meet his eyes, as if fearing he could read my thoughts if he did.

I felt ashamed.

Ashamed of the thoughts I'd been thinking the entire night - and still was. Thoughts our dead father had placed in my head just before he passed on. Thoughts I didn't want him to know about, or _any_ of my brothers for that matter. It was better that they didn't know. I wasn't sure on what to do with the information. However I _did_ know that I didn't want either of my brothers to be any part of it. Splinter had told me and me only. I suppose a part of me was keeping it a secret in respect to my father, but the main reason for me keeping quiet was of course to protect my brothers.

What would this knowledge do for them? Would there come anything good out of it? Perhaps it wasn't up to me to decide.. Or perhaps it was? No matter how I tossed or turned on the situation, the endless list of questions wouldn't stop coming. I was cornered.

"It's not your fault, you know."

Once again his voice startled me. "What?" I asked, looking up at the purple masked turtle sitting across from me. The lamp hanging above us caused the shadows to mask his eyes, subduing whatever feeling hiding there. I felt like he had taken a peek at my thoughts, and maybe caught just a glimpse of them.

I felt naked.

"Master Splinter," Don explained, slowly stirring the spoon in his cup, almost soundlessly as he looked at me. "That last attack was just too severe to recover from. There wasn't anything either of us could've done to prevent the inevitable," he whispered, glancing down at his cup of tea, as if meeting his own reflection on the surface. "You sitting there with him when it happened... that was just a coincident," he finished, looking back at me, offering comfort with his dark, kind eyes.

"Coincident?" I repeated, my voice barely audible as I caught his gaze with my own, yet rejected his comfort.

"Bad luck, misfortunate, I dunno," he shrugged, shaking his head in a way that made him look just as lost as I felt. "Call it whatever you want," he continued, boring his eyes into mine a second time. "Just... just don't blame yourself, okay?" He furrowed his eye ridges, waiting for a reaction on my emotionless face.

"What makes you think I'm blaming myself?" I asked bitterly, not sure why I even bothered to do so. I knew the answer to that question. It was almost as if I wanted to hear him say it - like a pep-talk.

"I know you, Leo," he replied, his voice lacking the harsh irony mine held. "You blamed yourself when he got sick. You blamed yourself when the Foot got to Raph. Heck, you even blamed yourself when we were eight and Mikey broke his leg," he added, a faint smile lightening up the sorrowful kitchen.

"He left me in charge to watch you," I explained, recalling the horrible can't-touch-the-ground accident in the living room all those years ago. Sensei had as usual left me to watch over my brothers and one thing had led to another as the four of us got carried away in the game.

"That's not the point, Leo," Don firmly interrupted, letting go of the spoon in his cup, placing his hand on the surface of the table with his palm down. "You always blame yourself. You always have. Mikey falling off the back of the couch was no one's fault but his own clumsiness. You have to stop piling so much responsibility on yourself. Some mistakes aren't yours, you know."

I opened my mouth to speak but he quickly stole away the chance,

"Just..." he said, his quiet voice trailing off in the room. He broke our eye contact with an exasperated sigh when he couldn't find the proper words. After staring at the corner of the table for a short second, his eyes turned back to mine with a sudden determination that almost overwhelmed me. "It's not your fault," he said, no more - no less.

I held his eyes for a while, thinking of how his words sounded, what effect they had on me. I realized it had always been about responsibilities with me. Every single action of mine had been motivated by a simple 'can' or 'cannot do'. Splinter had always trusted me with the responsibilities and I felt honored for that. Yet...

There was a small part of me that wished I could be like Raph, a suppressed part. I sometimes wished I could just act and worry about the consequences later. There were times where I wanted to do things for myself, not worrying about the effect it would have on anyone else. I wanted to be careless, act on instinct.

I wanted the chance and the courage to be impulsive.

But there I was, worn down with even more responsibilities. And they didn't feel anything like an honor to me. They felt like a burden. A burden suited for someone stronger than myself to carry. The suppressed part of me felt it was unfair of my father to dump this on me, using the state of my feelings in an emotional moment that was his very last. But then there was still this other part of me, the self-condemning part, that felt like a failure for not being able to live up to the leader he expected me to be. He expected me to be strong enough to make that choice, he expected me to carry the obligation in his place.

I felt like I was torn right by the middle. And that feeling in itself was dishonorable to my father, because in all my life as his son, I had never done anything that didn't reach up to his expectations.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_November 2nd; 3:07 a.m._

I was haunted by my own nightmares, so many nightmares. They'd been plaguing me for months, keeping my pulse on the edge every time I closed my eyes to sleep. They say dreams are about issues you for some reason haven't dealt with during the day. Unresolved issues.

I would be living proof of that.

Even though I had many different nightmares, only a few of them returning a second time, they all ended in the same way.

I had to choose.

It always came down to the same climax; me having to choose between my brothers, decide whether I should let them all die or save only two of them. But just as every dream led up to that harsh ultimatum, I always ended up making the same choice.

I didn't choose.

Instead I just stood there, watching all of my brothers die, right before my very eyes, when I had it in my power to save at least two of them. And every time I did, it broke my heart a little more.

I don't know if you've ever had that kind of nightmare. The kind where you have to witness a loved one; a family member, die right in front of you. I suppose you might've dreamt something like it during your childhood - I know I did. They were often about Master Splinter, my father, the center which my whole world revolved around. He represented everything that was safe and familiar in my life, and so when he died away from me in my dreams, I woke up feeling lost and scared.

Just like this time.

My skin was sweaty, my hands clammy and my pillow soaked. My heartbeats ran rapid and unsteady, the force of my pulse drummed in my head; taking over all my senses. And through all of this, images from my dream flashed in my mind, blocking out everything else around me.

I found myself standing in the darkness of my own mind; reliving the horror I had just woken up from. Blood. Screaming. Tears.

And as I stood paralyzed with all that I had ever feared, I looked down and saw the scene which froze the blood in my veins. I saw three beaten, lifeless bodies lying before my feet. My little brothers - dead.

It was so real, so vivid. Every bruise printed upon them looked genuine, the deep-red pool of blood their fallen bodies laid in felt warm and wet underneath my feet. The chilling look of death plastered on their features brought tears of agony to my eyes. And every dream seemed to come back stronger and more graphic than any of the ones before it. They, images my own mind had created for me, were slowly picking me apart, piece by piece. And there was nothing I could do to stop it. Where could I turn? On who could I rely?

I loved my brothers more than anything, and so because of that love, I kept my inner torture to myself - where it couldn't hurt anyone else.

I had never felt so alone in my entire life. It wasn't that I didn't think any of them cared, because I knew they did. The loneliness was a result of me carrying something they didn't. The secret was eating me alive, killing me in slow motion. And all I could do was watch.

I kicked off my damp covers and rose from the mattress, standing in the darkness of the subcar that was my room. The sense of night surrounded me, making me feel even more alone. I felt like a child again, like the little turtle I once was, waking up from a nightmare and yearning for my father's comfort and support. But there was no such place for me to turn anymore. I wasn't even sure I wanted to turn to him.

Through my life as his student and son, I had kept him on a golden pedestal, where flaws couldn't reach him. To me, he was perfection, the kind that was unattainable to anyone in his presence. He was my role model.

Growing up we all had someone we admired, an idol we secretly wanted to become. Mikey looked up to his comic book heroes, while Raph had posters of bands he listened to plastered all over his walls. Donnie admired famous physicists, inventors with creative minds, or any other person that might've made a breakthrough change in the world. We all had them. Me, I only admired one person. There was only one man I looked up to, strode to become and worked to please - and that person was my father.

That person was my hero.

But now, with his secret weighing me down - mistakes that were my legacy - my painted image of him was suddenly shattered - replaced with a looming shadow if his former self.

It was strange. A part of me still admired him for being able to make the decision I dreaded, yet another part loathed him for telling me when he did, and even choosing in the first place. It seemed like such a cruel decision to make; playing God with innocent lives.

I was suddenly hit with yet another image from my dream. Michelangelo's still, glossy eyes staring at me through death and disappointment. I had failed him, all of them, and me waking up from that horrible place didn't change that. I was still a failure.

Because even though the dream left, the feeling never did.

How could things have come to this? Happiness seemed like a myth I had never experienced. A genuine smile appeared to be years behind me; like a memory you could only grasp if someone reminded you of it. But even as someone did bring the memory forth, my mind pushed it away as soon as it was acknowledged. I didn't think myself worthy of happiness. While I longed for that very feeling every hour of the day, I always pushed it away as soon as it showed.

I was lost within myself; caged by the cold walls of depression. I was trapped and I wouldn't allow myself to escape.

Faint noises from outside my room suddenly caught my attention. There were lights flashing outside of my subcar, colorful lights that switched from green to red, blue to yellow, purple to orange. Someone must have left the TV on.

I carefully walked to the exit of the carriage and opened the door, making more noise that I had intended. I gazed down across the platform, my eyes reaching the couch where a sleeping form laid in fetal position. I stepped out on the platform and walked over towards the couch, where the TV was indeed on, although the sound was very faint, not to wake anyone up.

I stopped about twelve feet away from the couch, where the still form of Mike laid, his hands tucked in under his head. His breathing was slow, relaxed. But I was suddenly startled as he turned to look at me, his eyes wide awake with life and energy.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I blurted out, regretting leaving the solitude of my room. "I thought you were asleep."

He smiled at me, his childlike eyes gleaming in the light of the television. "Nope," he said, his eyes turning back to the TV. "Not yet anyways," he then added.

"Well uh," I nervously scratched myself on my lower arm, feeling incredibly out of place. "Just don't stay up for too long, okay?" I slowly backed away, about to retreat into my room when his cheerful voice stopped me,

"C'mon, Leo," he encouraged, sitting himself up with his shell against the armrest. "Loosen up and have a seat. The best shows always run at night."

I froze at the invitation, as though I was afraid of company. Looking at him only caused the vision of his dead eyes to haunt my mind; paralyzing it. "Mikey, it's three AM. Don't you think it's a little late to be watching TV?"

He chuckled, his eyes darting back to the screen. "Anything for 'Golden girls,' they crack me up."

I unintentionally arched an eye ridge, a small part of me laughing at the thought of my nineteen year-old brother secretly staying up at night to watch 'Golden girls.'

He caught me looking at him, his face curving into a smile as he playfully waved me off with his hand, "Oh c'mon, don't give me that look! We all know Dorothy's your favorite."

"What?" I breathed, a little taken aback by his sudden comment. "What are you talking about? I've never even _men_tioned the show."

"So you _don't_ like it?" he questioned, that unimpressed look plastered on his face, waiting for my composure to crack.

I stood mute for a few moments, pondering on what to answer, painting myself into a corner. "So what if _do_ like the show? That's still no reason to stay up till three in the morning to watch it."

"Maybe to _you_ it's three in the morning, " Mike pointed out, moving over to make room for me on the couch. "Mikey-time says it's three at night." He looked at me with a huge smile, tapping with his hand on the empty seat next to him.

I sighed in defeat, giving into his goofy attitude. Maybe a few minutes of watching TV would get my mind off that awful nightmare. Shaking my head, I took the few steps that parted us and sat down beside him, keeping my eyes focused on the TV, while I noticed he kept his locked on me.

"There," he said, nudging me with his elbow to loosen me up. "That wasn't so hard, was it? And as you can see, Dorothy's still a pearl." He pointed at the old, giant-like lady on the screen to prove his point.

I turned to meet his mischievous eyes with a disgusted look on my face. "For your information," I began, having decided to let that slightly gross remark slip, "_Rose_ is my favorite," I revealed, turning back to the screen.

"Really?" he questioned, not attempting to mask his shock in any way. "But she's so..." he trailed off, watching her as the lady in question went to open the door when there was the sound of a doorbell on their TV. "Well, I don't wanna say 'dumb' cuz I think she's a lot like me.. well, as charming, at least. But still.. _Rose_?" A smile pulled on his lips. "You're full of secrets, aren't you?" he asked, tipping his head to the side as he observed me through his wide-blown grin.

I turned around to look at him, the small smile that was about to take form on my lips suddenly gone, as the image of his bruised, pale face laid in the pool of dark blood that my nightmare had created. I frowned, avoiding his eyes as concern formed in them.

"Dude, what's the matter?" he asked, reaching out for me with a careful hand.

I flinched as he touched my shoulder, causing him to draw back his hand in shock,

"Leo?"

"Nothing," I mumbled, trying to focus on the TV, doing my very best to avoid him. "It's nothing."

"You sure?" he asked, obviously not believing me. "Cuz you look a little freaked out."

I felt his eyes searching me, studying me as though he was a living, breathing lie detector. I realized he wasn't backing down without some sort of answer, so I decided to give him one, "I had a dream , that's all. Don't worry about it," I explained, keeping my eyes focused on the screen, unconsciously watching him out of the corner of my right eye.

"Like a nightmare?" he asked, earning no response from me. He turned back to the TV, his happy attitude blown out like a candle. "Don't worry, bro," he said, still watching the TV, "we all have them sometimes."

"I don't wanna talk about it, Mike," I said firmly, holding back the emotions that threatened to surface.

"Leo, it's only normal to miss him," he insisted, turning to look at me with a friendly stare. "I'm no Mind-Doc but I'm pretty sure nightmares are part of the grieving process. I mean, he _was_ our fathe-"

"I said I _don't_ wanna talk about it!" I snapped, turning to look at him with hostility in my eyes.

He swallowed at my sudden outburst, looking at me like I had just ran over his dog, and that look alone made me regret what I said, but for some reason I didn't apologize. I just returned within myself, spending a few seconds staring at the TV before I got up from the couch and returned to my room.

I closed the door behind me, allowing the darkness to surround me in my lonely state of misery. I regretfully dropped down on the mattress, my face turned to the wall as I tried to get comfortable on the side, my right hand tucked in underneath my sweaty pillow.

The scene kept repeating itself in my mind, his attempt to support me, my unjustified outburst in return. I hated myself for what I'd done to him, for being the cause of that childish look of betrayal on his face. I didn't like the person I was becoming, yet I didn't have the strength to change.

_Perhaps they're better off if they don't like me,_ I thought to myself. _Maybe then my choice, whatever it'll be, won't be so disappointing for them to accept._

_No_, I decided. I couldn't possible live with myself after snapping at my little brother like that, much less go back to sleep. So I got up from the mattress and walked up to the doors, quietly sliding them open.

To my great disappointment I found the living room empty. The television had been turned off and Mikey had left the couch. Tense silence hung in the air. He had most likely returned to his room, scared off by my effusion.

With a heavy sigh escaping my lips, I closed the door to my room and went back to bed, closing my eyes to envelop myself in my tormented nightmares.

I sent one last look at the digital clock on the bedside table next to me, reading the green digits in the heavy darkness; _3:28_.

It was going to be a long, lonely night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_January 17th; 1:42 a.m._

Silence - an element I had been living with for months. It was something that seemed to follow me wherever I went. I didn't matter if I was alone in my room, or surrounded by all my three brothers in the kitchen. That awkward, dreadful silence still hung over me.

This particular night wasn't any different. I shared the living room couch with Raphael, the two of us watching television in the quiet company of each other. It was dark, the only light coming from the open kitchen subcar to our right, apart from the colorful images that flashed on the TV screen. We wasted no time in talking to each other, but allowed the silence to build an invisible wall of suppression between us.

I never did say much to any of my brothers. It seemed as if every conversation was a result of them reaching out to me. Raph never bothered to small talk. If I didn't have anything to say, he never made an effort to try. Even if I was the only person around.

Don and Mike had left the lair to patrol the city together, something they'd been doing a lot since Splinter left us. I don't know if it was consciously, but the two of them had definitely been seeking company in each other. They used to be pretty close while growing up, but the bond they shared grew weaker as the years passed and they developed different hobbies. By puberty they had slipped pretty far apart, Don replacing Michelangelo's company with his computers and studies, while Mikey found somewhat of a kindred spirit in Raphael.

However, after Splinter died the two of them started spending more time with each other. I think the reason for it was Mike, and how he turned to Donatello for support - like when they were younger. Don never could say no to him, so his ear was always open whenever Mike needed to confide in him, as was his shoulder offered for the tears he spilled. They must have discovered what they saw in each other as kids, because as the months passed, as did their bond grow.

That is why the phone call scared me as much as it did. They never called while they were out on their private little patrols together. The only reason would be if something was wrong, in which case they needed our help.

The polyphonic melody bellowed from inside the kitchen subcar and Raph turned to look at me in the darkness, his eyes asking me if it was my phone. Unsure of the answer, my eyes held the same question as I met his gaze. It was late, so any phone call at this time of hour must have meant bad news, especially with the lives we led.

The thought seemed to have hit us both, as the two of us flew up from the couch and ran inside the kitchen. Raph got there first and snatched the phone from the table, flapping it open before he fearfully put it to his ear.

I noticed as someone talked on the other end that it had in fact been Raph's phone they had called. We each had four different models; cellphones Don had found at the junkyard and repaired. Raph's was spray painted with a dark red color and seemed to have lived a rougher life than any of ours had. It was scratched and dented, matching the rest of his belongings.

I turned my attention back to Raph. His features tensed as he recognized the voice on the other end and he clutched the phone tighter as he answered,

"_Mi_key?"

Worry grasped me at the specific tone of voice he used. It had an overprotective ring to it, one that never showed in Raph's voice unless something bad had happened to our youngest brother. Fearfully, I moved in closer, hoping to catch some the words that were said on the other line.

"..he don't look so good," Mike spoke, his breathless voice panting through the speaker. I could tell he had been fighting, either that or running an awful lot. His breathing wasn't tired because of emotional stress, it was physical.

"Where ya at?" Raph asked firmly, cutting straight to the information he needed.

"I'm not sure," his voice wheezed through the phone. "We were on our way back when.. when they ambushed us."

Ambushed. He _had_ been fighting.

Scenarios started playing themselves out in my head. I knew from the instant he used the word 'they' that he was in fact talking about the Foot. And I knew Donnie had to battle them by himself as Mike took the time to make the call. Scary images flashed in my mind, the state they might be in when we got there.

We had to leave.

"We're on our way," Raph said, thinking the thoughts I were as he flapped the phone shut and tucked it into his belt. He gave me an urgent look before he rushed out of the kitchen, fetching his weapons in his room and heading out the exit ladder.

He didn't have to say anything, I knew they needed us there as soon as possible.

Stopping by my room, I strapped my katana onto my back and followed Raph out of our home, sprinting through the sewers with his blackened form running in front of me. The methodical sound of the water splashing up on our legs echoed in my head as I ran, mixed with the trained breaths I took while running.

But there was something else accompanying me in the wet tunnels, apart from the noise that surrounded me. There was a certain thought that wouldn't leave my consciousness.

_He called Raph._

How come he dialled Raph's number and not mine? I was the leader, I was the official person to turn to if anything like this happened. Mike was probably stressed as he made the call, and didn't think about which number he dialled as he did. But that bothered me even more. He was obviously fearing for his and Don's safety, and so on instinct he turned to Raph for help.

I wasn't jealous of Raph or anything. It didn't have anything to do with sibling rivalry. I just remembered that there had been a time when Mikey called _me_. Once upon a time he dialled _my_ number when searching for help.

Somehow, that had all changed, as I found myself running behind the leading shell of my younger brother.

I was the oldest, I was their big brother. For as long as I could remember, they had all turned to me when they got into trouble. It could be anything from accidentally breaking a furniture to needing backup in a fight. I had always been the rock they leaned on.

When had I lost control of everything? At what point did my brothers no longer turn to me for guiding and help? I suppose I only had myself to blame. I had been secluding myself for quite some time. They were bound to get tired of reaching out. Eventually, they would reach elsewhere.

I guess I just never thought it would hurt so much when they did.

I felt like I wasn't important anymore, like I didn't matter. I had always thought my family needed me, that they needed my leadership to guide them and hold us together. They could obviously do without me, and that thought scared me more than I believed possible. Because if my brothers didn't need me... what purpose did I have?

Mentally, I was helplessly hanging over the edge of a skyscraper, holding on to the hands of one of my brothers. That night, I felt like he slipped with one of his hands, leaving me hanging above the lethal pavement by one hand alone. The weight got so much heavier to hold on that one hand; my burden that much harder to carry.

I was that much closer to falling.

Finally, Raph reached the manhole we were heading towards and ascended the iron ladder to remove the cover. I climbed after him, stopping halfway as he lifted off the iron lid. Fresh winter air reached me on the ladder, lights from the city brightening up the dark underground that surrounded me. I felt a chill run through my body when cold snow landed on my head and shoulders, dropping from the surface as Raph got up on solid ground.

I hurried up the ladder, finding Raphael already halfway up a fire escape in the secluded alley. I spun around to move the heavy manhole cover back in its place, the cold steel hurting my fingers as I clutched it.

I quickly turned to follow him, climbing towards the roof of the eight story high apartment building.

I rushed to catch up with Raph as he ran on the snow-covered rooftop, leaping through the chilly air as he landed on the building across the alley. I tried to focus on the icy rooftops, paying a little extra attention to my slippery surroundings as I stomped off against the edge of the building to land on another one. I hoped to myself Raph was doing the same thing, although I knew he had other things on his mind.

By heart, both of us knew where we were heading. We knew our brothers and knew which way they would be coming, when returning from their patrol. It was only a matter of time until we reached them.

Deviating sounds caught my attention further ahead, noises that stood out from the occasional car engines and drunken voices that dressed the New York City night. We both knew they were sounds of a struggle on a rooftop nearby, and we both knew our little brothers were at the scene.

Naturally, we both ran faster.

The closer we got, the louder became the noises; cries of war, weapon striking against weapon, rapid feet running across the cold blanket of the building and panting following afterwards. It didn't take long for us to reach them, discovering our two brothers standing their ground against a flock of Saki's ninjas, outnumbering them with almost twenty men per turtle.

Every time a warrior fell, another stepped up in its place.

Neither Don or Mike seemed to have the strength to hold their stand against the black clad hoard much longer. They could certainly use our help, to even the scores a bit.

Raph quickly found his place in the chaos, embedding his sais into the stomachs of two Foot members as soon as he reached up to them. Donatello and Mikey instantly noticed his presence and visibly lit up, hope rising inside of them, now that the quartet was gathered.

After pulling back his bloody sais, causing the two bodies to collapse in the snow, Raph quickly moved on to kicking the one that snuck up behind him, crushing his jaw with the heel of his foot.

It was certainly beginning to look up for our team, now that reinforcement had arrived.

I jumped off the rooftop - using the muscles in my legs to push myself off the concrete surface - and landed on the building that held my three brothers, eleven stories above the city that knew nothing, nor did it care.

Deciding to be offensive, rather than wait for one of Shredder's men to attack me, I rushed up to Michelangelo, to help out with the group he'd been battling on his own. He offered me a quick smile of gratitude before the both of us were forced to focus our attention on the ninjas that surrounded us.

I swung one of my blades through the air, slicing an unfortunate man's abdomen open. He clutched his stomach in pain, trying to withhold the blood that quickly emptied him on life.

Negligible, the warrior toppled over, facing downwards as his blood spilled on to the snow, quickly spreading across the white surface like a red carpet underneath his body.

I wasted no time in watching him, as two other ninjas attacked in his place, coming from each side of me. I easily used a split kick to knock them unconscious, the both of them flying backwards at the powerful force. Once again landing in the cold snow with my already numb, bare feet, I turned to the guy at my left, who held a single katana ready in his grip. Like the most of Shredder's ninjas, he made the first move to attack, his blade coming down at me in a vertical angle. I quickly blocked his attack with the both of my swords, held in front of me in the shape of an x, his steel clinking against my blades as they collided.

He was strong, and much larger than myself as he with brutal force leaned over me, trying to wear me down with the weight he channelled into the weapon. I felt the muscles in my arms contracting, forcing me to take a step back to hold my balance.

Peeking through his black mask, with his eyes meeting mine, I heard him hiss through his teeth, his strength obviously wavering as his arms began to shake with small but regular vibrations.

Taking advantage of his tiredness, I quickly broke our contact and moved aside to the left, kicking him in the abdomen as he fell over because of the sudden lack of resistance. After a short huff of air escaped his lips, the man clutched his stomach, unaware of his sharp katana as he hit the ground in fetal position. By accident, the blade cut into his side, splitting his torso open.

He was dead before his blood seeped out from the gaping wound, his sword having punctured both his heart and lungs.

Having taken out four ninjas from Mikey's list, I moved away from my brother, charging on those who flocked around Raph. With my back turned to Donnie and Mike, I failed to see the solider that came from behind me, and even though I managed to catch the sound of his feet taking force as he jumped off the snowy rooftop, I wasn't able to move fast enough.

Halfway turned towards my enemy, he forced both his legs into my right side, sending me flying.

I collided hard with the ground, my left arm caught underneath my body once landing. Hearing something crack, I gritted my teeth, inwardly kicking myself for turning my back and leaving myself open to his ambush. Within a second I turned to retrieve my swords, which I on purpose had tossed aside to avoid landing on.

I was quickly on my feet to meet his next move and, even though my left arm burned from the impact, I readied myself with my twin katana in front of me, eyes locked on the smug attacker.

Having had the pleasure of beating me once, the bold ninja took the chance to charge at me a second time, pride clouding his judgement as he attacked me with his nagitana, the sharp blade on the edge of the staff pointed at me.

This time ready for him, I managed to duck just enough for the knife to miss me, giving me the chance to strike back.

Once down in my crouched position, I noticed the ninja Michelangelo fought managed to place a kick to his chest, sending him flying backwards. His speed was halted once he with cruel force collided with a cement wall, one that was built around a locked door that reached up to the rooftop, like on many other apartment buildings in Manhattan.

Once the back of his head was slammed into the concrete, he instantly fell unconscious, his chucks dropping at his sides.

His attacker fast approached him, his spear ready in his hands as he did.

Quickly, to save my youngest brother, I spun a low kick on my opponent, pulling out his legs from underneath him. He fell hard on his face, losing the grip of his nagitana; the staff quickly burying itself in the snow a safe distance away from him.

With one last move to finish him off, I penetrated his exposed back with my katana, using my good arm. But after drawing back my sword and turning my attention back to Mike, I immediately noticed another ninja as he charged at the unsuspecting back of Donatello, a katana ready to strike in his hands.

Don was busy battling another ninja, wielding his bo in the air as his attacker closed in on him from behind.

In that moment, I felt time and everything around me freeze. All sounds ceased, drowned, as if my ears were buried underneath the pressure of two soundproof pillows. The attackers were travelling in slow-motion as they moved in on my little brothers, the both of them incapable of defending themselves.

I knew I had to act, if I was to save either one of my siblings.

I was never a person to run away from my problems, yet this time I felt like running to the point where I couldn't breathe and my legs couldn't carry me any farther. I was living one of my many nightmares, facing what I had feared all this time.

I had to make a choice.

Don or Mikey? Mikey or Don? Both of their lives were at stake, both at the same time.

Paralyzed, crippled by my own fear, I managed to do nothing but watch as the two killers rose their weapons at my brothers. I had gone completely out of function, disconnected. Even my voice was lost to me. All I could do was stand there - with all the cards on my hands - and watch.

Then suddenly, like lightening striking earth in a flash-second, time sped up again, the noises of my environment returning to my senses with an unbearable force.

_"DONNIE!"_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_January 17th; 2:05 a.m._

The desperation in Raphael's cry blared in my head like the sound of a car horn, just before it was about to hit a petrified animal. And just like a helpless deer standing in the middle of the road, I did nothing but stare at the events that took place in those few seconds of panic.

My mind was as if parted from my body, watching myself from another's perspective as I did nothing to help.

While I had been locked to the ground by my fear, utterly useless to my brothers, Raph had found his way to Michelangelo's motionless body, protecting him from the ninja that attacked with his spear. The hard metallic pole in the hands of the Foot soldier hit nothing but the steel of Raphael's sais as he went for the killing blow. Shocked by the sudden arrival of the red masked turtle, the attacker stood dumbfounded with his spear locked to the sais.

Raph, meanwhile, discovered something I already knew, yet did nothing to stop. With his back turned to Mikey's defenceless body, Raph saw past his opponent and noticed the ninja attacking Donatello from behind.

His cry was what sped the world back up, using every ounce of strength left inside of him to call our purple masked brother's name, his very life depending on it.

Hearing Raph cry out for him, Don turned around in shock, only to have the katana of his enemy cut through the flesh of his right upper arm, missing his neck by a crucial second. On instinct, Don shoved his bo into the abdomen of his attacker, causing him to pass out from the blow, his bloody sword dropping to the cold, white ground. Donnie quickly turned back to the foot member he'd been battling before he was injured and placed a fierce kick underneath his chin, causing the man's jaw to slam shut as it broke. Unconscious, the man collapsed in the snow, leaving Donatello to clutch his upper arm in anguish. His face twisted at the unbearable pain that coursed through his arm, blood seeping out from underneath his hand, filling up between his three frigid fingers.

Still, my brother stood his ground, red blood dripping from his arm, leaving crimson spots in the icy, white snow.

The distinct contrast of death was sickening.

After witnessing what could have been Don's last moment, Raphael shoved Mikey's attacker off of him, the incredible force in his arms pushing the stunned ninja backwards. Before the enemy had the faintest chance of charging at him, Raph spun a kick that connected with the left side of the soldier's head. Apart from the blow of the skull cracking, the man soundlessly fell to the ground, his limbs flaccid with death. Another ninja caught up to Raph in his friend's place, and I caught my red masked brother looking at me from across the roof, urgency apparent in his mahogany brown eyes.

"Leo, dammit! Do somethin'!" he hollered, entangled in yet another battle. As if to reach through to me in my coma like state, he angrily motioned with his eyes towards Don.

Awoken from my trance, I turned my head to the left to discover my purple masked brother, who despite of his injures did his best to defend himself against the ninjas that attacked him, using the opportunity now that he was wounded. Donatello's defensive blows were powerful, yet his body was faltering; color starting to diminish from his face.

Back in the harsh reality, I quickly rushed over to my wounded brother, slipping my right blade into the side of one his attackers, my sword hitting his ribs. Harmless, the man's legs gave out from underneath him, leaving him on his back in the snow. He lifted his heavy head and horridly discovered the pool of blood that surrounded him, causing him to cry out in fear.

Sobbing, the young warrior called out for his 'mommy,' his child like pleas awakening guilt and grief inside of me. When having fought these ninjas for as long as we had, it was easy to forget about the faces that hid behind their masks. Because regardless of what they stood for, despite the pain they inflicted on me and my family, they were still people; individuals with thoughts and feelings. People that left not only a history behind them, but relatives, as well.

When this was over and the morning arrived, someone would be forced to identify this body, this man.

Brushing the sudden pang of remorse off of me, I quickly placed a kick in the abdomen of the ninja that tried to attack me from my right. The sudden blow caused him to lose his breath. Out cold, he collapsed in the snow, joining his friends; their bodies spread out over the rooftop. Some of them were merely unconscious, while some of them not.

For the moment safe, I worriedly turned to look at Don, meeting his swaying eyes. "Are you okay?" I asked, fear and concern dripping off of my voice like pure acid.

"I-I think so," he replied, as though he was too shocked to communicate.

Ignoring his answer, I turned to inspect his arm, which he tightly clasped with his bloody hand. "Lemme see," I asked, putting my right sword back in its sheath.

Don slowly removed his hand from the wound, revealing a deep cut in his brownish green flesh, blood pouring out from it at a dangerous rate. It was impossible to tell how deep it was, there was too much blood. And the cut looked as though it had been made with a scalpel; a smooth, sharp slash reaching up to almost four inches on his upper arm.

I had to force myself not to gag, right then and there.

Suppressing the nausea and ignoring the pain that rushed up my left arm once moving it, I quickly sheathed my other sword, lowering my face forward as I reached back behind my head to untie my bandanna, my trembling fingers grasping the flimsy cotton fabric of the knot. It seemed to take forever to get it open - and forever was something I did not have.

Once I managed to slip the mask off of my face, I quickly glanced up at my woozy brother, who seemed to grow paler by each second that passed. "Give me your arm," I ordered, holding up the blue mask above it as he lifted it, pain obvious on his features once he did.

Fearing for his life, I roughly tied the mask around his arm, draping it four times before I was forced to tie the short ends together. Don quietly hissed once I fastened the knot, the wound very sensitive to my brutal, urgent touch. Nonetheless, he knew it had to be done. We both did.

As soon as the knot was secured, I noticed how fast the blood seeped through it, coating the blue mask with its harsh, red color. Looking at my hands, I noticed that my numb fingers were covered in his warm gore.

_An artery_, I realized. The katana must have cut through an artery. There was no other explanation for the rapid bleeding. If the blood flow was allowed to continue at this rate, my younger brother was condemned to bleed to death.

A cold sensation of dread gripped the pit of my stomach, twisting and turning; strangling it like a snake working to kill its prey.

I looked back up at Don, whom by now had turned dangerously pale, the reasons for it many. He was in deep shock and overwhelming pain. But the main reason, as well as the most critical, was his blood loss. He had lost far too much already, and the makeshift bandage I made for him seemed to have little affect.

The blood flow was showing no signs of stopping.

"Keep pressure on it," I told him, my advice sounding more like an order than anything else. Casting a quick glance over my shoulder, I noticed how Raph on his own had to fight the dozen of Foot ninjas that still stood. With pressing eyes turned back to Donnie, I grabbed him by his wrists - a desperate attempt to get his full attention - and bore my stare into his tired eyes. "I've gotta go help Raph," I informed him, intentionally speaking clearly. "Just.." I momentarily glanced at the cold ground our sore feet rested on, knowing it was just another thing that stood against us this night. "Just wait here an.. and stay focused."

He nodded, listening carefully to my words.

"Don, I'm serious," I insisted, grabbing his wrists a little tighter. "Under _no_ circumstances close your eyes. You have _got_ to stay awake, you hear me?" With determination in my gaze, I locked my eyes with his. I had gone into full blown leader mode; every fibre of my body trying to take control of the nightmarish situation that threatened to destroy us. I refused to lose him. It was _my_ fault he was even in this mess in the first place. Had I not gone into shock, I might have been able to help Raph save our brothers.

But just like in my dreams, I lost complete control of myself and my actions. I failed.

"Leo, I _get_ it," Don said, carefully slipping his hands out of my grasp. "I'll be fine, okay? Just go help the others so we can get out of here." Even though he was tired, both from the loss of blood and the fighting, he met my eyes with the same determination, an unspoken understanding lingering between us.

"Okay." My voice was low and hushed. I then turned to glance at the ground a second time. In spite of the cold snow, Donnie needed his rest. I slipped my arm below his unharmed left arm, supporting him as we walked over to a large, nearby chimney. I carefully turned him around and held him by his shoulders, guiding him into a seated position. His shell was facing the beige brick wall as he slid down, gritting his teeth in pain, yet I made sure he held eye contact with me the entire time.

When trying to get comfortable on the ground, Don winced as he was forced to move his injured arm. He placed the staff in the snow on his left side and moved his hand to put pressure on his wound, his fingers gripping around the harmed biceps as if he was trying to choke it.

I didn't like the thought of leaving him in the snow, but I didn't have any other option. I reached behind my shell for my swords, biting my cheek when moving my swollen arm and kept my eyes locked on Don, who at the moment was looking over his shoulder, staring at Raphael as he fought, killed. He soon turned back to meet my eyes, a hidden trace of fear lurking in his chocolate brown depths.

"You sure you'll be okay?" I asked him, not wanting to leave him alone like this, vulnerable.

"Leo, they need you out there," he answered, noble as he was. "Don't worry about me."

With one last nod, I reluctantly turned away from him and hurried off to Raph, who had been forced to hold our stand against the Foot all by himself. I knew he would never willingly admit to it, but the fighting was starting to affect his energy, his breathing transforming into panting.

Reaching up to my red clad brother, I turned to look at him with my katana in my hands, witnessing as he spun a lethal kick that eliminated three of our enemies at once, their bodies landing in the snow. With rugged breaths, he turned to look at me, both his sais covered in the blood of those who no longer stood.

"The hell happened ta ya!" he yelled, anger obvious in his accusing eyes.

"I don't know," I told him, unsure of what to say. There was nothing I _could_ say to explain myself. Nothing that excused my actions, or lack of actions.

"You don't _know_?" he cried, hurriedly glancing at the ninja that raced towards him. "Ye fuckin' almost cost us a brotha'!" With his attention turned to the ninja, he jumped aside as he attacked, coming up behind him to plunge one of his sais into the lower back of the black clad warrior, causing him to gasp in pain. Raph took the opportunity to look at Mike, still unconscious; his body slumped against the cement wall he hit, his head lolled to one side.

I was forced to turn my eyes back to the last group of ninjas that stood on the roof of the building next to ours, their red bandannas flapping in the chilly wind of the night. There were seven of them. Was this the last group, we might just make it.

Raphael retreated his sai from the back of the dying warrior, the man coughing as he dropped to the ground. Ready to take on the next one, Raph turned back to me with anger in his eyes. "Check Mikey," he told me, panting.

"Raph, there's seven of them. You-"

"You deaf?" he questioned, his chest heaving up and down with his tired breaths. "_Check. Mikey_." He left no room for argument in his voice, his eyes turning away from me to prepare himself for the last attackers.

Silenced, I sheathed both my swords behind my back and hurried off to check up on Michelangelo, the lifeless body of his would-be killer lying across from him. Avoiding the clay, I crouched down in front of my youngest brother, relieved to see air reeking from between his lips, dissolving into the cold winter night. I lifted my right hand to make sure his pulse was steady, noticing Don's blood covering my fingers. I swallowed once and pressed them to his throat, relieved to feel stable beats against my tips, even though they were low.

It wasn't anything a warm bed couldn't fix.

I removed my touch from his throat and slipped my hand back behind his head, my palm making contact with a large bump. Carefully running my fingers across it, I felt something wet and warm against my skin.

_Blood._

A bucket of ice-cold water washed over me, creeping inside my very soul with its numbing force. My pulse started to race, fear building up with it. Weren't Donnie's injures enough? I couldn't bear the thought of losing one of my brothers, much less two. Quickly, I pulled Mikey's face into my embrace, reaching behind him to look at the wound, while at the same time trying to be careful with his head in my arms.

My thumping heart began to calm down, a breath of relief escaping my lips. It turned out it wasn't so bad. There was a small crack caused by the impact. But it didn't appear to need any stitches. The wound was small enough to tape together. Nonetheless, it would probably hurt a great deal once he came to.

As soon as the thought left me, he began to stir in my arms, muffled words spoken into my plastron. I was incredibly relieved to find him waking up, groaning as he fought to lift his head. Supporting his shoulders with my hands, I helped him into a seated position, his back leaned against the wall.

"Ow.." he moaned, gripping his head with his right hand as his eyes fluttered open. "Something hurts.." He caught me looking at him and his eyes widened with confusion, pain still visible in them. "My head's killing me." Rubbing his bump, he closed his eyes in suffering.

"You got kicked into a wall," I told him, cautious eyes studying him, making sure he was as okay as he appeared.

He quickly opened his eyes to look at me, the information dawning on him. "Well, that explains a lot," he said, that light, characteristic tone returning to his voice. He placed his hands on each side of his body, his palms sinking into the snow. Gritting his teeth, he painfully began to rise, and I instantly pulled my good arm around him, helping him stand.

Once he was on his feet I bent back down and fetched his nunchakus, which he dropped the moment he crashed into the wall. I rose and held out them to him, noticing an unnerving look beginning to take form on his face.

"Uh oh.." Realizing something, Mikey bent forward - away from me - and retched. His shoulders contracted when he fought for the vomit to surface, hulking as the gastric juice spilled onto the snow, traces of dinner lying in the puddle.

_Concussion..._ I realized, recalling the time I threw up after Don accidentally hit me on the head with his bo during practice, all those years ago. It made sense. It had been a powerful kick that sent Mike flying, and the wall he crashed into was very hard, to say the least.

I took the time to check up on Raph while Mike was puking, noticing there were only two ninjas left standing. Nonetheless, they had just joined the fight, unlike Raph, who had done most of the job by himself. And there were many things that stood against him. It was late, it was cold and he was tired. I could tell, because like I mentioned before, his breathing had gotten rugged and violent. He no longer had the power to be as offensive in his attacks like he usually was when fighting, and the soldiers seemed to have noticed this, as they attacked him in synchronization with each other. They attacked from opposite sides, teasing him, trying to tire him.

However, Raph knew they were toying with him - and it only infuriated him more. Stubbornly, he blocked their punches, contracting in tune with their movements, trying to spare his energy until he had a good chance to strike. He found himself jumping back and forth in between his enemies, the two of them systematically working together to wear him out.

I wondered to myself; how much longer could his patience last? Raphael had never been one to stand by and take punches from anyone, no matter what the situation. He usually fought with his heart, his passion - not with his mind. Sooner or later, they would make some kind of move that would push him over the edge and urge him to attack.

"Oh, man..."

Mikey's nauseous tone of voice caused me to turn back to him, watching him as he clutched his head in pain, trying to keep the world from spinning. "Remind me to never get kicked into a wall again," he groaned, spitting in the snow to get rid of the sour aftertaste in his mouth.

"Are you gonna be okay?" I asked, ignoring his weak attempt to joke. I placed a concerned hand on his shoulder, causing him to turn to look at me, dizziness shining through in his eyes.

"Yeah," he replied, a smile tugging at the right corner of his mouth. "Just give me five minutes, will ya?" Titling his head, he noticed something, his eyes studying me with curiosity. "Dude, where's your bandanna?" he asked, his clueless voice filled with innocence.

I swallowed hard, doing my best to keep eye contact with him, but for some reason my eyes seemed to waver, avoiding his child like stare. "I gotta go help Raph," I told him, my voice stern and serious. "You need to keep Don company."

"Sure thing," he said, tucking his chucks into his belt as he nodded. "S' he hurt?" he asked in a casual tone of voice. He had no idea how bad things were. And I had to tell him.

I didn't want to.

My lingering silence caused worry to wash over his features, his eyes urging me to answer him. "Leo?"

_Damn._

"He got cut pretty bad," I finally revealed, causing his face to drop. "I used my bandanna to dress the wound.. but you need to keep pressure on it."

"Wh... is he gonna be o_kay_?" he asked, a glint of hope shining through his worried gaze.

"He's over there," I told him, motioning with my head to the left side of the rooftop, "behind the chimney." I had placed him behind the chimney so the Foot wouldn't see him. Unfortunately, he was turned away from our sight, as well. It troubled me.

Without another word spoken, Mikey hurried across the roof, worry evident in his every movement.

Forcing myself to focus, I reached back behind my shell for my katana, arming myself with them before I rushed up to Raph, who was still being bullied by the last two ninjas, his defensive movements becoming slower and slower, the cold and the fighting starting to take its toll on him.

"Hey!" I called out to his two Foot members, standing fifteen feet away from them with my swords held in front of me.

All of them turned to look at me, Raph panting heavily as he got a chance to rest. One of his friends was armed with a bo, while the other one held a katana in his grip.

I knew _exactly_ which one I wanted to fight. And he seemed to notice, as he suddenly lost all focus in Raphael and headed in my direction, his steps careful, his eyes calculating; trying to read my body language for my next move.

This one was better than the rest, smarter - as was his friend. They didn't rush to attack like the rest of the clan had. Instead, they took their time to learn our style and plan their movements. Was it not for the fact that they lacked all honor and attacked Raph in pair, they might have resembled real ninjas.

Raphael took the opportunity to hurl at his opponent, managing to slit the man in his side, ripping his clothes and cutting into his flesh. A mere second later, the both of them found themselves staring at each other, a few feet's distance between them. The man pressed his hand to the wound, taking a short moment to look at it, his muffled voice hissing behind his mask once he discovered his own blood-print on his palm. Turning back to Raph with dark eyes, the ninja grabbed a firmer hold of his staff, twirling it in his hands with a whooshing noise, before he pointed it at my brother - and charged.

Me, I found myself staring into the eyes of my opponent, the both of us poised with our katana in our hands, waiting for the other person to act; make the first move. I mentally reminded myself to control my left arm. It wasn't broken, but comparing with earlier experiences I figured it was strained. And while that didn't take as long to heal, it hurt just as bad to move. I could not let him see that. For if I did, then he would've found my Achilles' heal - and an opening to attack.

Finally, he sprung at me.

His katana came at a horizontal strike, aiming for my right hip. Luckily, I managed to block it, my left blade connecting with his, pain travelling up my arm at the sudden movement. Even so, I kept my face solemn, refusing to let him know of my injury. Locking his eyes with mine, he retreated his sword, quick to spun a kick, missing my waistline by a few inches. In return I dropped to the ground, trying to pull out his legs from underneath him with my right foot. Prepared, he leaped into the air, rising his sword for a downward hit.

I rolled over on my shell, his blade missing me by mere centimeters as it connected with the ground, leaving a cleaving mark in the snow.

He was good.

I got the feeling Shredder had put in extra time when it came to these two, almost as if he had trained them by himself. Did he really want us dead that badly? Because that man rarely spent any time with anyone other than himself, not unless he gained something from it...

"Leo, he's unconscious!"

Mikey's splitting cry was filled with anguish, panic and fear, enough to pause all of us in our stance. Enough for my thoughts to travel elsewhere.

_Don!_

The world hit me like a smarting slap in the face, leaving me bruised and shocked. The thought of Donnie not making it suddenly felt _real_. It felt like a future, instead of just being the possibility for one. I could picture my brothers and myself as we carried his lifeless body into the dimness of our home, tears spilling from our eyes when placing his limp form on his bed.

I could feel it as though I had lived it. And it snaked around my being like a rope designed to cut off all oxygen; suffocating me. I felt reality's hands clasped around my throat, the sense of choking altering something within me. Suppressed instincts I had long since buried vigorously came to life, filling my body with energy that reached all the way out to the tips of my fingers.

My fear of losing him grew immense, and the need to save him overtook me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_January 17th; 2:14 a.m._

There I was, crouched in the snow with my enemy in front of me, his blade locked to the ground at my right, far too close for comfort. Mikey's cry still echoed in our ears, as it seemed like the world around us had stopped with it. There was just so much feeling bouncing off of his scream, so much fear - and even though it didn't freeze us for more than a spilt second - it was just enough time for me to get the upper hand.

Before the opportunity passed, I supported my weight on my left arm, pain grasping it as I used my right foot to throw my enemy off balance, causing him to fall backwards at the impact, his eyes facing upwards in shock. Quickly back up on my feet, I plunged my right katana into his chest, feeling as the blade bore past his ribs, through his lungs and connected with the concrete surface underneath him, only then reaching to a halt.

Looking up at me with terror gaping his eyes open, he fought to breathe, the sound of blood spluttering in his throat as it filled up with the red fluid. His stomach convulsed and one final smoke of breath escaped his open mouth, until there was nothing left but a bloody corpse, its limbs cramping to the spastic rhythm of death's melody; dancing into the afterlife.

Retreating my sword and sheathing it behind my back, I didn't stay to watch.

My feet stumbled over each other as I ran, as though they weren't connected to the same mind. But it didn't matter, because the only thing I could think about was to reach Donatello. There wasn't any room for other thoughts in my head, not that it was much of a thought.

It was pure instinct.

Once I caught up to them, I turned the right corner of the chimney, discovering Donnie's motionless body leaned against the brick surface, his head lulled to one side. Michelangelo clasped his shoulders with his hands, trying to force life into him by shaking him. There were tears welling up in his eyes and panic twisting his features as he pleaded and begged for Don to open his eyes, but the agony in his words were mute to my ears.

I couldn't hear a thing.

I saw his pain, and I felt his desperation, but all sounds were lost to me as the world spun around me, mocking me, making my stomach revolt. I felt like throwing up, if only to remove some of the tension, some of the unbearable feelings that built up inside of me.

_How could this have happened?_ I asked myself, as if actually expecting an answer. How could Mike be crying for our brother to answer him? Pleading for him to come back? How could Don have gotten that severely injured? How could _I_ have let it happen? How could I have failed them?

Suddenly, sounds came back to life as Raphael crashed into my left shoulder, the impact waking me up from my dazed state. He hurried up to our brothers, blocking my view and shoving Mike to the side as he kneeled in front of Donatello, his quick hands checking his throat for a pulse. All attention was focused on him as he opened his mouth to speak, his shell turned to me,

"He's alive."

Several breaths of relief were released, knowing Don was still among us. But, like always there had to be a 'but.' Because Raphael's bitter voice told us he might not be alive for much longer.

Raph's hands urgently travelled to the wound on Donnie's right upper arm, his fingers turning red when touching the soaked tourniquet I made for him, only a few minutes earlier.

"We hafta stop the bleedin'," he said, his harsh voice filled with control and direction, foreign when coming from his vocal cords. Searching, he turned his head away from Don, his eyes travelling across the many bodies of our enemies that were spread across the rooftop, most of them lying in a pool of blood, while others laid unconscious in the snow, freezing to death in the cold.

He drew back his bloody hand from Don and tensely rose to his feet, his grasp reaching for one of the sais in his belt. "Keep pressure on it," he ordered, gripping the tainted steel in his right hand as he rushed up to one of the corpses, dropping to his knees beside it.

This time quick to act, I crouched in front of Donnie, my hands pressed to the makeshift bandage on his arm, praying it wasn't too late to save him. The blood was still warm, heating up the cold skin on my palms.

It sickened me.

"Is-is he gonna make it?" Mikey's tear-filled voice cut into my very soul, tugging on the grief I did my best to restrain, knowing I was fighting a loosing battle.

I turned to look at him, my gaze caught with his teary, chestnut brown eyes.

I felt like I could cry. The mere look of him just broke my heart in two.

Breaking the contact and turning back to Don, I answered him sadly; honestly, "I dunno, Mikey. We'll do our best." But when looking at Donatello, his pale face immovably resting on his left shoulder, I found myself wondering if the best was enough. Don was unconscious, and _he_ was the one who carried the knowledge and information on how to save him, how to treat the wound and bring him back to us. How could we possibly do it without him? How could we do at_ all_ without him?

I didn't want to think it, but it seemed like Saki had won this time. And while there were many times in my life where I had lost, defeat had never before felt so bitter.

Before I had a chance to do anything else, Raph appeared to my right, a piece of ripped, black clothing grasped in one of his hands. I realized he must have taken it from one of the fallen Foot soldiers, using his sai to tear it off. I instantly rose to my feet and backed away, allowing my brother to change the red-soaked bandage on Donnie.

He fell to his knees in front of Don, clutching the cloth in-between his teeth when using his hands to work the knot of the tourniquet. His stressed fingers travelled over the drenched fabric, pulling on one of the ends of the mask to untie it. Finally, after having managed to open up a small loop in the knot, he slipped one of his fingers inside and undid it, tossing the dripping piece of cloth to the snow. The contrast of the icy white snow made it all more clear to my horrified eyes.

My bandanna wasn't blue anymore.

"Oh God.." Mikey whimpered, his wide eyes staring at the bleeding wound on Donatello's exposed arm. Most of his arm was covered in blood, while there were deep marks in the skin, imprinted by the makeshift bandage. "He's dying," he fearfully whispered to himself, his voice cracking at the overburdened weight of his tears, causing Raph to drop the cloth he held in-between his teeth, turning to Mike with an angry glare.

"We still got time, okay!" he snapped, grabbing the dark garment with his bruised hands, moving to tie it around Donnie's arm. He turned back to look at the wound, uncharacteristically focused as he wrapped the fabric around the limb, tugging at the cloth to make sure it was tight enough. "We ain't losin' 'im. It didn't cut through the artery," he determinately mumbled, draping the cloth around the arm for the third and final time as he moved on to tie the knot.

"How d'you know?" Mikey asked, his cheeks damp with tears as he turned to Raphael, finding slight comfort in his tenacious behaviour.

Raph never broke his stare on Don, but focused on securing the knot while answering Mike's question, "Iffit _had_, there'd be blood spurting in the rhythm of his pulse." His voice was grim and firm, as is he was too mad to answer any questions, too upset to talk to anyone.

Michelangelo wordlessly nodded, sniffling as hope was planted inside of both him and myself. Because Raph was right. As long as the artery was intact, we still had a chance of saving him. How, though, that was a different story, one none of us knew the words to.

"All right," Raph said, securing the knot one last time. "We hafta get 'im back ta the lair," he declared, wiping his forehead with the back of his right hand, leaving a wet bloodprint.

A warning bell rung in my ears, forcing me to speak up, "That's twenty minutes away from here, if not longer in his state. He'll never make it," I objected, causing Raph to spun around to face me, hostility obvious in his eyes.

"You got a better idea, Fearless?" he snapped, challenging me with his stare. "You've been nothin' but dead-weight since we got 'ere, an' _now_ ye wanna take charge?" he yelled, his chest heaving with his laboured breath, waiting for me to respond.

Even though we didn't have time for his accusations, they still stung me... hard.

Because I knew they were true.

Keeping my voice collected, I answered him, "I'm serious, Raph. We'll never make it back in time." Impatiently boring my eyes into his, I witnessed as the truth dawned on him, causing him to turn back to Don, thoughtfully looking over our options as he searched for a solution.

Then it hit me, like a nerve striking my mind with the speed of light, piercing the dull fog that clouded my thoughts.

"April," I breathed, quietly speaking to myself as the idea surfaced. The mention of her name caused both Mikey and Raph to look at me, hope visible in their worn eyes. "We gotta get him to April's," I spoke up, something resembling a plan taking form in my mind.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** _I would like to point out the ever-so-helpful assistance from _**Sassyblondexoxo**_ in this chapter. I know nothing when it comes to medical stuff, so her experience helped immensely! Honestly, thank you, girl! So nice of you to back me up with your knowledge! _

* * *

**Chapter 9**

_January 17th; 2:25 a.m._

My body was cold, my heart racing and my mind flustered. New York City had never before seemed so dark, so lonely. And it wasn't because of the freezing night that hung above us, stalked us. The reason for it was the thoughtless people that slept in its embrace.

Not a stranger in the entire city cared about us, about the unique life that was fast slipping away from my grasp, from the world - and it infuriated me.

There would be a media frenzy once the public discovered the bloodbath on the rooftop. The people of the city would gather to honor and celebrate the lives of those who were lost, killed by us in a desperate act of self-defence. Yet no one would shed a single tear for my brother, perhaps the most kind-hearted of them all. In their eyes, he was as insignificant as the alley rats that fouled their existence.

Not _one_ thought would be wasted on him.

And so his life rested in our hands - and in our hands alone. Just like his survival rested on my conscience. Because no matter what happened to him, I was still to blame for his suffering, for our pain. Not an apology in the world could change that, undo what I did.

I was responsible.

We rarely travelled by ground, but with Don's critical state we simply couldn't jump the rooftops like we usually did. It was a good thing we knew everything there was to know about stealth, because even in the protection of the darkness in the alleys we passed, there were still some close calls. Lucky for us, Mike did a good job of pointing them out in time, where he ran a few yards up ahead. I knew he must have felt awful because of his concussion, but he never displayed any pain. He simply pushed it aside so he could put all his energy into saving Don. He loved him far too much to lose him. And with that motivation keeping him alert, Michelangelo flawlessly led us through the darkened city that never slept.

Raph and I did our best to keep Donatello awake as we carried him with each of his arms draped around our shoulders, gripping his lax wrists with distressed determination. He barely moved his feet at all, his mind slipping in and out of consciousness throughout the journey. Even while his mind drifted into darkness, the pain was still evident on his twisted features. But the real torture was for him to walk. Every muscle in his body objected as we forced him onwards, his jaw clenched in anguish. Nevertheless, we had to keep up the pace.

We didn't have time to stop.

The hard part was to get him up the fire escape to April's apartment. Somehow though, we managed to help him up all five floors, his body nothing but dead weight in our arms. To say the least, April was surprised to see us when we came in through her living room window. She wore nothing but a beige terry robe, tying the worn rope around her waist as she tried to grasp the chaotic situation that abruptly woke her up.

Raph and I did our best to help a somewhat aware Donnie through the much too small window, as Mike hurried inside the apartment to get towels to stop the bleeding with. April tiredly rubbed her eyes and reached for the light switch on the wall, her eyes widening in fear once the room was illuminated.

"Jesus," she gasped, her hand cupping her mouth in shock, taking in the bloody scene before her. Don barely stood on his own two feet in the living room, his entire stance depending on us to hold him up. Warm drops of blood travelled down his arm and stained her sand colored laminate floor. Trying to hold his head up, his eyes slowly flickered to stay open.

Every moment was a struggle for him to stay with us.

Having no time to explain ourselves to her, Raphael and I guided Donnie to her living room couch, only to have her voice interrupt us before reaching it,

"Wait!"

We turned to look at her, Donnie's head tiredly dropping forward in dazed exhaustion.

"Put him on the bed," she insisted, urgently turning on her heal to enter the bedroom she recently just left, her robe dancing around her legs as she trotted on her bare feet.

Raph and I exchanged quick glances before following her, practically running her down as we passed her on the way. Once reaching the door, Raphael shifted his body, walking sideways through the doorway with Don on his right shoulder, while I came in last, supporting him with my left side. The room was dark, not even the light of the moon reaching in through her closed drapes. There was a small lamp lit on her night stand, though, and with its light guiding us through the clean chamber, we walked over to the master bed that stood centred with its frame against the left wall, its lemon yellow covers carelessly flipped over to one side.

April came in behind us and introduced the entire room to light by hitting the light switch on the wall by the doorway. She watched us as we gently laid him down on the bed, his grimacing features facing upwards at the hurtful movement. I quickly hurried around the foot of the bed to assist Don on his left side, trying to get eye contact with him as his eyes lazily fluttered open.

"I got these!" Mikey nervously exclaimed, running inside the room with various towels huddled in his embrace.

"Give 'em ta me," Raph demanded, impatiently waving his arm for Mike to hand over the towels, while keeping his face turned to Donatello, his features strict.

Mikey hurried up to Raph and handed him a light blue towel, Raph roughly snatching it from his hand. He pressed the soft towel to Donnie's arm, watching as the dark blood seeped through the terry fabric, the red color spreading across the piece of cloth like cancer; corrupting it. Snatching another one, Raph determinedly added more pressure to the wound, causing Don to moan in anguish, feverishly stirring his head on the pillow.

Carefully, I placed a comforting hand to his pale forehead, his cold touch sending a fierce shiver down my spine, transforming my gut into a chunk of ice. I looked up at Raph - his stubborn hands pressing the towel to the wound - and realized how much he really loved his family. He wouldn't break his focus as long as there were heartbeats beneath Don's plastron, which was kind of ironic. Because normally, Raphael was the pessimistic one, his bitter nature acknowledging the end when we didn't want to. But when it concerned his brother - his family - all of that dramatically changed.

He simply refused to let life have its cruel way. He refused to let him go.

It didn't take long for the blood to soak the second towel, and Raph angrily turned to Mike for more. "Gimme anotha'," he ordered, grabbing a white towel from the youngest arms.

Soundlessly, Mikey exchanged a worried glance with April, before turning back to watch Raph as he pressed the white cloth to Don's bleeding wound, the innocent white color quickly changing to a deadly red.

Raph instantly grabbed a forth one.

It was awful, the feeling of being useless, powerless. My brother was bleeding to death right before my very eyes, and there was nothing none of us knew that could help him. It was unfair. Why couldn't we rush him to the hospital like everyone else did with their family members? Why couldn't a doctor take care of him, like they did everyone else? Why did it have to be so damn unfair?

I felt my eyes beginning to sting with tears and quickly blinked them away, holding them back. This was no place to cry, no time for weakness. So instead of giving into my feelings; my pain, I carefully cleared my throat. "It's not working," I said quietly, sadly.

Raphael angrily looked up at me, daggers shooting from his eyes, and said nothing. He didn't have to, because I saw it in every breath he took, every thought he knew. He was just seconds away from hitting me. And to tell you the truth, and don't know what stopped him.

I expected him to burst.

April's voice suddenly interrupted the hateful silence in the bedroom, her voice silent, yet decisive. "You need to stitch his wound," she said, nervously fidgeting with the lazily tied rope of her robe. "I.. I think there's still some stuff left here since Casey." Reading the looks in our eyes, she pointed towards the door. "I'll go get it." With that, she rushed out of the room, leaving us alone with our brother.

A few months earlier, Casey got hurt when running into the Foot. The cut needed medical assistance, but we didn't want him to go to a hospital, because then there would be questions, and the police would get involved. To avoid any unnecessary attention, Donnie stitched him up by himself, leaving some of the supplies at April's in case the wound would get infected.

It never did, because Don knew his thing. Sadly, the rest of us did not. So as fate put Don under _our_ care, we didn't know what to do.

As if realising the same thing, Raph angrily pressed the towel to the wound, causing pain to hiss through Donnie's teeth.

"Schhh... It's okay," I told him, gently stroking his forehead with my thumb, repeating the movement in an attempt to calm him.

"Leo?" he quietly asked, his confused voice hoarse as he spoke. He searchingly turned to look my way, his eyes squinting open as he looked at me.

Unsure of what else to say, I told him, "I'm right here." Doing my best to reassure him of my support, I continuously caressed his frontal lobe, his beads of sweat sticking to my skin.

"Leo.." he breathed, his eyes flickering in distress, trying to hold contact with me. After discovering the rest of his surroundings, his features confusedly twisted and he tried to lift his head from the pillow. But in doing so, a wave of pain washed over him, causing him to grunt. I instantly forced him down with my left hand on his plastron.

"Lay down," I gently ordered, guiding him back to the pillow, his tense body slightly protesting to my touch. "You need to rest." The image was ghostly similar to the night in Sensei's subcar, that last dreadful night in his company. As if poisoning me with its return, I felt the flashback draining my psyche on hope, one ray at a time. Refusing to give in to the whispers of my self-pity, I quickly ridded my mind of the memory and turned back to my brother, a forced determination in my eyes.

Donnie breathed heavily, that small act alone having drained him on a lot of energy. "What.. where am I?" he finally managed to get out, confusion obvious in every word he spoke. On the bright side, though, he hadn't been this conscious since he first passed out, and that in itself was a miracle.

"You're in April's bedroom," I explained, brushing my thumb on his forehead. "She left to get medical supplies... to help," I quietly added, as if to provide him with a tinge of hope.

With his eyes temporarily closed, he roughly whispered, "How bad is it?" his body tensing with his hissing breath.

I exchanged a worried look with Raphael across from me, none of us wanting to tell him the harsh truth: that he might actually die within the hour, perhaps even a matter of minutes. However as it turned out, the awkward silence answered Don far better than any of us ever could.

"How long have I.. have I been out?" he breathed, slowly opening his eyes to look up at the two of us.

"Ye've been in and outta consciousness fer a few minutes," Raph said, breaking Donnie's gaze to focus on his injury. "I'm not sure how long," he continued, mumbling. "Ten.. maybe fifteen? I dunno." With that said, he reached out his right hand to Mike standing behind him, who handed him a new, clean towel, which he mutely pressed to the dressed wound, tossing the used, blood-soaked towels to the floor.

I caught Mikey looking at him through sorrowful eyes, witnessing his older brother as he went into the safety of his tough guy-attitude, his face losing all signs of emotion.

It was painfully sad to watch.

"I found it," April's stressed voice interrupted us as she strode into the bedroom, carrying a see-through plastic box in her arms, big enough to easily fit a basketball. "I dunno what's in it, but--" When discovering a conscious Donatello on the bed, her words came to a haltered stop, her mouth slightly gaping in surprise. After a few seconds of staring at him in silence, she finally found her voice again, "You're awake."

She was indeed stating the obvious, but the mind never knew how to act in such a situation, so you were likely to say stupid things, if not guaranteed to do so.

"Ape, the box," Mike cut in, causing April to wake up from her trance, shaking her head in apology.

"Of course," she said and walked up next to Raph to place the box on her night stand table, moving her alarm clock to the side to make room for it. She opened the plastic lid and put it aside behind the space between the box and the wall, leaning it against the wall. She reached inside the box and brought out a bottle of antiseptic, her eyes scanning the fine print of the text. "I'm not certain.. but I think you can use this," she mumbled to herself, her eyes still glued to the label. "Says here that--"

"How's _that_ gonna stop the bleedin'?" Raph roughly snapped, his impatient eyes boring into hers.

April was caught off guard by his sudden rupture and stared at him, dumbstruck. "I... I don't know," she sadly confessed, her energy blown out like a candle by Raphael's outburst.

Panic rose within me at her answer, because a part of me had hoped she would know the things we did not. I desperately turned to Don for answers, his eyes barely open where he laid, focusing on nothing in particular. "Don," I said, moving my hand from his forehead to his side, cupping his right cheek and turning his face to me. "Donnie, look at me. We need you to help us," I solicited, the strength of the leader I once was tracing my words like a familiar echo. I locked my eyes with his and focused every fibre of my being on getting through to him, my words as clear as the driven look in my eyes. "Tell us how to fix you."

He attentively held my gaze, his eyes slightly wavering back and forth as he looked at me, due to the short distance between us. "How deep is it?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper as it filled the silence of the room.

I thought back to when I dressed the wound, trying to get an idea of how deep the cut had really been. But all I could see was blood. There was just so much blood, and I couldn't seem to remember anything but that. With my attention focused on him again, and fear hidden in my voice, I finally answered him, "I don't know. The blood... I couldn't see for sure."

Don nodded slightly and blinked in understanding, his eyes still as kind as ever, but with a hint of sorrow soaring within them. "You'll prob'ly have to stitch it.." he wheezed, his eyes leaving mine in deep thought, turning to stare at the ceiling, or whatever laid beyond it. It was as if he was looking at nothing at all. A nothing the rest of us couldn't see. "First you have to.." he winced as he moved, trying to get comfortable when lying on his shell. "You have to clean the wound," he finished, his teeth still clenched because of the pain that surged through his body. Then, with his eyes wide open, he turned his head back to look at me, his left cheek buried in the white pillow, hiding the corner of his eye. "Get water," he said quietly, simply.

Mikey was already halfway out the door when April put her hand on his shoulder to stop him. "I'll do it," she said as he turned around to look at her, his cheeks still damp from the tears he shed earlier. "You just stay here with Donnie." Her voice was kind and understanding, just like the look in here eyes as she faced my orange masked brother.

All of us knew why she offered to leave, why she wanted Mike to stay. Donatello looked like his last breath could be next in line after each exhale he made, and if that was the case, April thought it was best if all his brothers remained by his side. He was of course a dear friend to her, as well. And the thought of losing him was just as painful to her as it was to us, I saw it in her eyes. But even so, Mikey was his brother. And if it was something she had learned since meeting us, it was that _that_ came before everything.

Michelangelo nodded silently as April offered a weak smile and left the bedroom to boil the water, her stance shaky as she walked, as if she was only seconds away from succumbing to the tears that burned in her eyes.

Meanwhile, Mike made his way over to the bed, joining us beside Raph. He looked at Don with fear in his swollen, red-stung eyes, like I child would when visiting their dying grandparent in the hospital. "How're ya holdin' up, bro?" he asked, trying to produce a tune of humor in his voice. He certainly didn't sound very happy, but his small attempt to lift our spirits was still appreciated.

Don rolled his head on the pillow to look at his younger brother, breathing heavily as he did so. "Been better," he replied, the corner of his mouth pulling slightly upwards at the small joke.

Mikey chuckled through his tears, causing the salty water to trickle down his cheeks, which were already irritated from the last flock of tears, his skin rash. He reached out across the bed and found Donnie's right hand, which he gently took in his, tenderly squeezing it as they held eye contact.

Raph and I glanced at each other, and I caught tears in his eyes, even if they were tears he wouldn't allow to fall. We both knew how close the two of them were, how much they had been depending on each other since Sensei passed away. I feared what would happen to Mike if Donatello didn't make it. He didn't just see him as a brother, but as his best friend, and as such he desperately clung to his hand, refusing to let him go for even a second. Mikey would feel as though he was utterly alone if Donnie died, even if it wasn't the case. He would still feel like he had been abandoned by the person he trusted most of all - his best friend.

Looking at Raph - the dread in his eyes reflecting my own - I knew that was something we both feared.

If Don were to fall, that would only be the first domino brick to topple. It was only a matter of time before the rest of us went down with him, broken.

Raphael discreetly sniffled to himself - his grief hidden behind his shield of anger - and turned to Mike with determination in his eyes. "I need a new towel," he said, a little harsher than he might have intended. As Mikey handed him the cloth, Raph was quick to switch if with the old one, adding it to the pile of tainted towels on the floor.

"You should untie the.. the bandage," Don said, his attention turned to his upper right arm as Raph pressed the towel to it. Raphael looked up at him, slightly surprised to hear his voice. Donnie tiredly met his gaze and quietly explained, "You need to clean the wound," he breathed, pausing to find air, his plastron weakly rising up and down as he did so. "Has to be disinfected before you... before you stitch it." His voice was becoming foggy, as if it was harder for him to shape the words, and I noticed his eyelids continuously dropping, reluctantly giving into the need to rest.

"Don?" I questioned, gently shaking him by his left shoulder to get his attention. "Don, stay focused," I insisted, and witnessed as his eyes immediately shot open, as if he hadn't even realized they were closed. He slowly turned his head over to look at me, his eyes disoriented as they tried to meet mine. "Tell us what to do next," I spoke up, doing my best to keep him with us. Because without him to lead us through the procedure, he was doomed. We all were.

"If the artery.." he began, his words as dull as if he was talking in his sleep. "If it.."

"It's not the artery," Raph cut in as Donatello trailed off, already working on the knot of the tourniquet. "I checked," he added, his eyes switching from Don to his injured arm, panic beginning to rule his working hands as Don's eyelids dropped.

"Don!" I called, shaking him by his shoulder a second time. Once again his eyes shot open, working their way towards mine. "Stay with us, Donnie," I commanded, my voice gentle as I did so, almost pleading. "How do we stop the bleeding?"

He was barely looking at me. It was as though he was looking at invisible people standing on either side of me - his eyes swaying back and forth - completely out of his control. He did his best to answer, but nothing intelligible came out of his mouth as he spoke, just faint murmurs, despite his best attempt to form the words.

Uncontrollably, his eyes began to glaze over.

"Donnie!" Raph angrily cried, moving his attention to the pale features of his brother, shaking him by his chest to keep him awake.

Mike's eyes widened in fear as the hand in his grasp fell limp, his eyes moving in panic between Donatello and myself. "Donnie?" he questioned, gripping the hand tighter, shaking his body by his hip. "Donnie, wake up!" he cried, his face beginning to squirm, turning into the very image of sadness as the tears came faster, spilling from his flooded eyes like water would when overflowing a glass and rising above the edge.

But no matter how hard we cried for him to stay with us, no matter how many times we called his name, it didn't keep his pupils from rolling back into his skull, the white in his eyes being the last thing we saw before they closed shut.

I felt as though my panic got caught in my throat, leaving me gasping for air in fright. There was only one thought that ruled my senses then, and it repeated itself over and over until there was nothing but those horrendous words, the monotone sound of them slowly driving me insane.

_It can't be. It can't be. I can't be. It can't be..._


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

_January 17th; 4:51 a.m._

The heavens were still dark, even as the new day crept closer, and very few people had ventured out on the streets of New York on this particular Saturday morning. Most of them were still resting in bed, after a hard week's work, while others found peace in the lonely silence; sitting by themselves in their lit kitchen and drinking coffee, dreamily staring out the window. Some of them might have even spotted me as I darted past their view, an unstoppable silhouette jumping the rooftops of Manhattan. But I doubt they saw anything worth remembering. I was gone in an instant. Just a simple blink of an eye - and they missed it.

I ran like I had no other mission, no other purpose, other than to keep running.

My cold feet tramped down the icy snow as I raced and I felt my swords wiggle on the back of my shell every time I jumped off a rooftop to land on another. I didn't know where I was heading, or when I would stop - I just ran, to the point where my legs were pumping so much lactic milk I feared they would give way beneath me. And yet it felt like no matter how far I ran, or how many steps I travelled, it still wasn't far enough.

My guilt was still right there behind me, breathing down my neck, torturing me with visions I never wanted to relive. The memory of the Foot soldier slitting Donnie's arm open kept repeating itself in my mind; over and over again. And every time I saw that shiny blade cut through my brother's flesh, his hand clasping the bloody wound in agony, I ended up hating myself a little more, wishing... _praying_ I would have acted differently.

Because if I had, none of this would have happened.

As if only _then_ realizing I couldn't escape my past, undo the mistakes I had made, I suddenly stopped in my tracks, panting for the dear life of me. I leaned forward in utter exhaustion - my hands planted on my kneepads for support - and felt my breath burn inside my throat, as though it was made of pure fire. And while I stood there and stared at my cold, sore feet, bruised from all the running, my pulse finally caught up with me. During the short time I remained in that pose, trying to regain some sort of self control, my heart managed to reach such speed, I feared it would explode in my chest. It was all I could hear for minutes, its rapid beats thumping in my ears, as if it was literally trying to blow mind away.

When my pulse finally began to slow down, and my unwanted thoughts started their way back to me, I studied my surroundings for the first time since leaving April's apartment. I found myself on an ungodly height above the ground, and the view was breathtaking. I stood surrounded by towers of nearby apartment buildings, with a few lit windows every here and there. But like the rest of New York, most of the buildings were still dark. Even the moon was gone for the night. I realized it was unusually quiet, and even though it probably wasn't the case, I felt like I was the only person awake. Like I had the city all to myself.

I tiredly walked up to the edge of the building, a little surprised to find myself as high above the ground as I appeared to be. I hadn't realized it as I ran - blinded by regret and self-hatred - but from what I could tell, I was at least standing twenty stories above street level. Everything looked so small from up there. The cars that stood parked by the sidewalks resembled micro machines, some of them covered in snow, while most of them had an icy blanket of frost on top of them. The snow on the streets had turned to slush and dirt, polluted by traffic. Even the sidewalks were slushy, tramped down by the thousands of people that had walked there during the day. And since there never fell a fresh mantle of snow that night, the streets were left wet and filthy.

My thoughts soon drifted back to my brothers whom I had left in panic; to Donatello. I kept seeing him in front of me, in the darkened solitude of April's bedroom, lying motionless on her bed, and it was all I could do to keep my tears from returning. I felt a new flock of them welling up in my eyes, blurring my vision to the point where I had to blink if I were to see anything at all. As soon as my eyelids closed over the tears, several warm drops of them travelled down my chilly face, reaching the corner of my mouth where they left me with a salty aftertaste, one I knew all too well.

And as I stood there, crying by myself, drowning in ruefulness nothing could mend, I suddenly heard my brother's fierce voice in my head, screaming at me as a cold breeze swept past me.

'You've been nothin' but dead-weight since we got 'ere, an' _now_ ye wanna take charge?_'_

_Raph._

How right he had been. This terrible accident had indeed proven once and for all where my post was in the group. I didn't belong up front, nor did I deserve a place in the clan my father left behind him. I had taken my heritage and polluted it with failure, flaws and mistakes, all three of which belonged to me. All three of which I despised.

Somewhere along the line, I had changed, lost myself. I had turned into someone I didn't recognize, a person who froze up in the heat of battle, standing like a spectator by the sideline, my presence nothing but further trouble to my family.

Everything was my fault. The responsibility rested on no one's shoulders but my own, and even though there might have been a time where I had considered myself strong, those days were long gone. I didn't have the power to stand up for my wrongs. My inner plagues had finally crossed a line none of us were meant to cross, no matter how bad you felt, no matter what excuse you had.

Once again Donatello's pale, frozen features flashed in my mind, speeding up the pace of my tears.

How could I look my siblings in their faces after this? How could I possibly live with the shame of my doings, my past? How could I deserve to live at all? My existence had brought nothing but tears and misery to my family. And what I wanted more than anything was to spare them that pain, undo what had happened.

But, like any remotely sane person, I knew that wasn't possible.

I suppose there is a point in everyone's life where you feel that you've hit rock bottom. If you can't point out the exact moment, it hasn't come yet. If you can, then you understand what I mean. Because standing there, on the edge of that rooftop, with only the blackened sky accompanying me, I had in deed hit rock bottom. I couldn't reach any lower, even if I tried. And what scared me even more was that no matter what I did from that moment on, I still wouldn't be able pick myself up from the pit.

I blinked away the tears that clung to my eyes and looked out over the city, a morbid silence surrounding me, and realized my reason for running away, for stopping where I had.

Sadly, my eyes travelled back down to the dirty pavement beneath me, its hard appearance striking my heart with anguish, sorrow and fear. Because I knew what my brothers would say if they could read my thoughts. I knew all to well what they would do. Even so, I couldn't keep myself from thinking them.

_Perhaps... Should I?_

A part of me wanted to. More than anything, a part of me needed to jump, put an end to my tragic tale. But even as the deadly ground allured me with its promise of peace, of eternal rest in the darkness, I was scared to death of actually doing it. No matter how bad I had felt, no matter how lost I had been in myself, I had never wanted to _die_. At least not up until that moment. It was a foreign desire to me; a need torn between selfishness and honor.

And that's when I knew.

It wasn't supposed to end like that. I couldn't possibly jump off the building, simply because I felt like it. No... If I were to go, I wouldn't do so because of my own selfishness, I wouldn't do it for myself.

I'd do it for my family. I would do it for love, for honor, and for the better of everyone I'd leave behind.

Slowly, I backed away from the edge with a heavy heart, drying some of the tears that slid down my cold skin, and vowed to myself in the darkness; whispering so only I could hear it,

"Not here. Not like this."

Then, with my mind made up, I went back.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

_Present time, February 12th; 2:38 a.m._

It was dark. Too dark. Several of the ceremonial candles that stood lit around the oldest turtle had burned out during his story, and the two brothers were left in silence with the three remaining candles, all of which did not have much longer to burn. Even so their flames flickered persistently, as if they were too stubborn to give into the fate of their blown out comrades.

The two turtles sat across from each other, a few feet apart on the floor. Leo still remained in the same cross-legged position, his head lowered in silence, while Raphael leaned his shell against the back wall of the subcar, his legs stretched out on the floor - one crossed over the other - as he looked over his left shoulder to be able to observe his older sibling. He gazed intently at the blue masked turtle, even as the story was finished and he was done talking. It was as if he was waiting for his brother to say something else - anything at all - to save him from the fierce sensation of hopelessness that blossomed in the pit of his stomach. Because he had been there, right beside his brother, on every step of the way on his path to self-destruction. And yet he had seen none of his pain, known nothing of the severe depth of his regret and self-hatred.

Perhaps he had been too caught up in his own pain? They were all locked up in their very own little prison of torture. They were all hurting. But for some reason the excuse brought no comfort to him. It didn't redeem him from himself.

The final words of his brother's story echoed in his head. There were still faint traces of the night when his big brother had wanted to take his own life, only to - at the very last moment - suddenly decide against it. And yet here they were, back in that same situation, Leonardo's selfish intentions no different from the ones he held on the rooftop all those weeks ago. And the reality of it left Raph with a sickening aftertaste, one that polluted his entire being with feelings of disgust and dread. Because he knew why his brother hadn't leaped to his death that night. He knew why he came back to them - and despite the sympathy he felt for Leo, for the things he'd gone through by himself - he still despised him for it.

"So ya decided ta commit seppuku," Raphael stated, to both himself and the one he accused. He rested his motionless gaze on his older brother, his eyes holding a distant bitterness only he could display.

Leo nodded in response, his head lowered in unspoken disgrace. "Yes," he confirmed, the short word barely reaching up to the trace of a whisper in the dully lit room. His entire stance displayed uneasiness; everything from his dodging eyes, to the nervous thumb that incessantly ran across the olive green skin on his upper left hand. Even the tone of his faltering voice oozed with a heavy odor of malaise, like it could break any second, "It's the honorable thing to do."

The mahogany brown eyes that were hidden behind the worn, red mask instantly widened in fury, as if those very words were the key to push his temper over the edge, "Bullshit, Leo! _Bull_shit!" The disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable, even underneath their dense curtain of hatred; a feeling that often masked anything that might hide beneath the surface. "That's juz an excuse fer you ta get out!"

Leonardo turned to look up at Raph, his gaze mirroring none of the anger that flared in his brother's stare. Instead, his eyes held a bottomless depth of remorse and constant suffering. "It's nothing like that!" he insisted, denying the accusations that were tossed his way, as though he was hurt by the mere thought of it.

"The hell it ain't!" Raph yelled, both of his hands curved into fists in his lap. "You juz think it'd be less chicken ta do it this way - 'in the name of honor'," he spat, mocking his brother's way of thinking. "Well, _fuck_ you, Leo! It's still suicide, and yer _still_ taking the easy way out." Once the words were out in the open, he continuously contracted his hands, his entire being seething with wrath that was foreign to even him. He felt as though he was about to boil over, his temper rising within him like hot, steaming lava inside the crowded walls of an erupting volcano.

"What about Donnie?" Leo interjected, bringing forth another issue to the table, one that flushed a wave of silence over his brother's tense features. Once he had his full attention, the blue clad ninja lowered his voice to conversational level, "It was my fault," he stated simply, unquestionably. "I should've done something. I-I should've acted. But I just, I... I didn't. I just stood there, watching.." his voice trailed off at the memory, and the tone of self-disgust was obvious. His brows twisted in disbelief as his mind helplessly went back to that night on the snow-covered rooftop, drawn in by the toppling weight of remorse he constantly carried.

Bent on keeping his brother present, Raphael angrily cut in, clipping the strings of the vivid memory that was haunting his brother, "That's still no excuse fer ye ta--"

"He almost _died_ because of me, Raph!" Leonardo forcefully exclaimed, his eyes suddenly as clear as Mediterranean water as he bore them into his brother, taking him by surprise with his unanticipated forwardness. "Because of _me_!" he repeated, pointing to his heaving chest with his open palm.

A moment of stunned silence passed, until Raph finally found his voice again; this time noticeably calmer than before, "But he didn't."

Leo broke the contact, turning his face slightly to the right as he swallowed an exasperated sigh, "But he might as well have," he bitterly reminded his sibling, staring at nothing in particular as he spoke. "Him waking up.. that was nothing but luck. We would've never been able to save him if he hadn't been there to guide us through it."

The truth of his words sent Raphael back to that moment in time, when he had been forced to tie off his brother's bleeding vessels, stitch his sliced muscle back together and finally sew his skin shut. And that wasn't anything like sewing a ripped sweater. No, Leo and him had with physical force pushed the sterile needle through the thick skin, their wounded brother squirming beneath their inexperienced touch, while they awkwardly secured the stitch to start another. And throughout all of this, the only help they had to go on was the hazy voice of Donatello, who could barely keep his eyes open, much less speak fluently.

The wound had of course gotten infected later, but by then Don was at least alive to do most of the healing by himself. And the incredible relief that he in fact _was_ alive; that was nothing but a good ol' miracle, as far as Raph was concerned. Because for a while there, things had been perilously dark, if not coal-black.

"Maybe," Raphael involuntarily admitted, his voice low as he spoke, as though the word never left the profundity of his throat. "But he _did_ wake up, so juz drop it, a'right?" It was more than clear that he did not want to go there; it was one can of worms he preferred to keep closed, like so many other banished memories that had resurfaced with Leo's story.

"No, I _won't_ drop it, Raph!" Leonardo refused, suddenly yelling at the top of his lungs. "Don't you get it?" he asked, a bit calmer as he bore his eyes into his brother, urgency evident in his stare. "He left me to lead you, not burden you. And now I've become a danger to us. The risk of me freezing up like that again is far more dangerous than any enemy or ours, and you know that, Raph. You _know_ it. And.." finally he trailed off, as if taking a moment to gather his thoughts, a second to prepare his next sentence. "And so for the survival of the cla--"

"Fuck the clan!" Raph interrupted, his choice of words coming as much of a surprise to himself as they appeared to be to his stunned brother. Even so, it didn't strangle his voice the slightest, "What about yer family? Huh? What about _us_?" he demanded, shifting on the floor and pulling his legs closer to him as he unconsciously leaned over; his pupils piercing into the static pair of eyes across from him. "Think about yer brothers, dammit!"

"I a_m_ thinking of you," Leo insisted, him too leaning in closer.

"No yer not," Raphael argued, shaking his head in protest. "This is all 'bout _you_. You an-and yer fucked up conscience," he stammered, so angry he was even stumbling on the words as they came out. "Think about _them_, Leo! Whaddaya think this would do ta 'em? Ta Mikey?"

Leonardo humbly broke the stare, obviously struck by the mention of his baby brother's name. Naturally, it only drove Raph into pushing him harder.

"Think about it," he compelled, searching for his brother's dodging eyes. "First almost loosin' Donnie - and then _you_?" There was a short pause, in which Raph hoped his brother would come to his senses and meet his eyes. But the blue masked turtle remained in his frozen position, avoiding his stare in denial. "Dammit, Leo!" Raph angrily cried, sprinkles of saliva leaving his mouth in the outburst. "You killin' yerself ain't solvin' _shit_!"

Shaking his head in quiet despair, Leo calmly answered his brother, still facing the floor on his right, "You're not seeing the bigger picture," he mumbled, before raising his gaze to meet Raph's. "I know it would be hard for you at first, bu--"

"At _first_?" Raphael fiercely interrupted, outraged beyond any limits he'd ever crossed before.

"But in the _long_ run," Leo persistently continued, refusing to let his brother disrupt him. "It's all for the better," he finished, his hazel brown eyes calm with an eerie determination.

"How's _this_ for the betta'?" Raphael questioned, angrily gesturing with his left hand to the unsheathed wakizashi left on the floor, lying on the right side of Leonardo. He desperately locked his eyes with his brother's, reaching out to him with every thought he knew, "How's you killin' yerself gonna help anyone?"

There was a short moment of silence, where Leo swiftly turned away from the stare, as if contemplating his brother's words. But he was quick to turn his eyes back to him, his gaze just as calm as ever. "We'd be ruling out the chance of this ever happening again," he said simply, the shadows from the flames flickering across his placid features.

"Whaddaya mean _'this'_?" Raph spat, his face twisting as he echoed his brother's word. "Nothin' happened, Leo. He didn't die. So would ya quit actin' like he did!" He felt he was running out of arguments, and feared he might have to punch his demented brother in the face if he would keep this act up.

Again, Leo slowly shook his head, his masked eyes holding a sense of sadness within them. "It was too close, Raph," he said quietly, woefully. "You know just as well as I do how close we came to loosing him."

Raphael angrily gritted his teeth, suppressed anger wildly flaring in his eyes. "I'm tellin' ya Leo," he growled. "Ya go there _one_ more time..."

"And what if next time we can't save him?" Leo questioned, ignoring his brother's warning. "What if next time.. what if he _won't_ wake up?" The possibility of the situation drifted off in the room, Leo's features still solemn. The thought appeared to be much too familiar to him.

Raphael angrily looked away, not wanting to hear any of the things his brother had to say.

"Things could go _so_ wrong," Leonardo gravely continued and searched for his brother's dark eyes, a defeating silence filling the candle scented air inside their late father's room. "And with me around," he quietly added, "it's only a matter of time before they do."

Raph nervously fidgeted with his hands in his lap, trying to ignore the waiting eyes of his brother. _You fuckin' coward_, he furiously thought, too angry to even speak the words as they came to him.

"You know I'm right, Raph," Leonardo softly spoke, his eyes patiently resting on his brother's tense stance. "That's why you're silent; you know I can't possibly continue with the rest of you."

The red banded turtle suddenly looked up, sending his older brother a furious glare. "You expect me ta juz let ya give up?" he cried, his eyes wavering back and forth as he held his brother's stare. "Where the hell's the honor in that?"

"I don't 'expect' you to do _any_thing," Leo answered, swiftly closing his lids and seeking strength within himself. Sympathetic eyes promptly opened to meet his enraged brother. "But you know I'm done for as a ninja. I can't go on like this."

"Fine!" Raph shouted, tossing his arms into the air. "So retire, then. Do what normal folks do. But for god's sakes, don't off yerself!"

Leonardo sighed, his shoulders tiredly slumping. "It's not that simple, Raph," he weakly answered, rubbing his temples with his right thumb and index finger.

"The hell it ain't," Raphael insisted, keeping his eyes on his hunched brother. "_Yer_ the one who's makin' it complicated."

"You know what, maybe I am!" Leo exclaimed, looking up to meet his brother's stunned gaze. "Maybe I am being too dramatic," he admitted, anger ruling his voice. "But _dammit_, Raph - I'm the one who has to live with myself!"

"Then why won'cha?" Raph yelled back, infuriating his brother furthermore.

"Because I don't _want_ to!" Leo cried, his voice coming to a haltered stop once he realized what he'd just said. Confused eyes met those of his red masked brother, panting quietly in disbelief of his own feelings.

The blurted answer came as much of a surprise to Raph, who silently observed his shocked brother as he struggled to wrap his mind around himself, his lost eyes darting across the walls of the subcar; looking at anything and everything, and yet, seeing none of it. The leader had just admitted - to both himself and his brother - that he truly didn't want to live anymore, and the realization of it moved Raph to the core, scaring him beyond his wildest beliefs.

Because how did you save a person that didn't want to be saved?

Finally, while still breathing heavily to himself, Leonardo turned back to meet his brother's watchful eyes. Then, after sharing a swift look of shame, he suddenly shot up from the floor and rushed out the subcar, his trembling hand gripping the right side of the door as he hurried through it.

"Leo!" Raphael hollered in stupor, instantly rising to his feet to charge after him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

_February 12th; 2:52 a.m._

The sound of mucky water splashing up against the running pair of legs echoed endlessly in the dark sewer tunnels of New York City, that and the methodical exhale of Raphael's breath as he ran, his eyes focused on the fleeing silhouette that raced eight leading yards ahead of him. They hadn't been running for very long, but with the speed Leo insisted to keep up, they were already a long mile away from the lair they had left behind. However, it seemed Raph was gaining on his brother with each step, almost as if he wanted to be caught.

But if that was true, than why didn't he stop when Raph called for him to?

"Leo!" he cried for what felt like the umpteenth time, his voice weakened from the incessant running. "Leo, stop!"

The oldest turtle never did; he didn't even flinch at the sound of his name, but just kept on running, his feet tramping indefinitely, kicking up cold water in his trail.

Finally, Raphael reached the end of his patience and tapped into that extra ounce of strength he had always stored for emergency situations. There were only a few times in his hectic life that he actually had to use it - and now was one of those times. Suppressing his lack of breath and pushing himself to his outmost limit, Raph switched to the final gear and sprinted recklessly through the murky stream, moving with an almost impossible speed, the water splashing insanely around his muscular calves.

It was only a matter of seconds until he caught up with his sibling, close enough to touch the tails of the blue bandanna as they flapped in front of him, taunting him with the short distance. "Leo!" he shouted, running up on the right side of his hysteric brother.

The eldest obsessively kept his eyes facing forward, his attention miles away from his brother as he ran, as if he wasn't even aware of his presence.

Seeing no other solution to the problem, Raphael tackled the leader's right shoulder with full force, sending his haltered body into the damp brick-wall of the tunnel, the unmistakable sound of hard hitting hard as the back of the shell vehemently collided with the wall.

Raph used the brief moment of his brother's shocked reaction to intensely push his own body against Leo's, locking him down with one arm placed horizontally against the heaving plastron. His other hand instinctively went to the left shoulder, using his grip to savagely push his older brother against the wall with a force that was foreign to even him. Sure, it was no secret that he was physically stronger than the leader, but every time they had been challenged face to face, some unconscious part of Raph had given into his brother's authority, known it was best for everyone not to rise against the alpha ninja. This time, though, none of that mattered. Because Leo had to be put on his spot; he had to be stopped. So, taking no time to restrain his temper, Raphael angrily demanded, "The hell's wrong with you?"

His violent cry went unnoticed by his brother, who was still struggling against his powerful hold, almost as though he was lost in the midst of a mind-ruling seizure. The red masked turtle tried to find eye contact with his mad sibling, but was unable to do so when Leo repeatedly shook his head, his eyes tightly closed in obvious discomfort. "Let me go!" he protested, trying to use his free arm to push Raph's pressing weight off of him while his entire body squirmed for freedom.

"Calm down, dammit!" Raph desperately shouted, doing everything he could to keep himself from lashing out completely on his wrestling brother. "Don't make me hit you," he warned, tightening his grasp on Leo's shoulder, his jagged fingernails accidentally puncturing the rough surface of the skin, "cuz I swear ta God I will!"

Finally, Leonardo stopped the eternal tossing of his head and met the red banded turtle's stare. Raph was even relived to find some sanity in the furious glare he received from his brother, who was still resisting to his relentless hold.

"Whattahell, Raph!" the first words came, anger shooting from the wide eyes of eldest. "Don't you realize what just happened?" he cried, giving into his brother's strength and allowing his contracting muscles to calm down. "Didn't you hear what I said back there?"

"I heard ya," Raph replied intolerantly, bringing his brother with him as he took a rigid step back from the wall, his feet hidden under the filthy surface of the water. "Still don't give ya the right ta run off like that!" he spat, realizing his brother had finally calmed down. With the swift shove of his arms - the heals of his palms hitting the upper plates of Leo's plastron - Raphael deliberately pushed his sibling backwards, his shell yet again hitting the hard surface of the bricks.

Leonardo looked stupefied, his eyes staring at Raph as if he couldn't believe he had actually pushed him into the wall, and yet the sudden collision seemed to have worked as some type of wake up call, because the panic that had swept over him only moments ago was suddenly gone, to be replaced with a baffled, honest expression on his features. "I... I.." he stammered, his breath laboured as he helplessly tried to defend himself against his brother's words. Finally, a bucket of defeat washed over him and he allowed himself to give into his pain, to be honest with his brother. "Raph, I'm scared," he piteously confessed, his eyes holding nothing but the naked truth; a truth that had never until now dared itself to surface from the misty depth of his tortured being.

Even so, the younger turtle's facial expression remained the same: stern and sceptical. "Since when do ya run away from yer fears?" he simply asked, a judgmental stare cast at his brother.

Leo appeared to be hurt by his cold behaviour, the pain on his face resembling that of an insecure child. "I... I dunno," he replied, his eyes dropping to his feet in shame. "I don't think I even know my_self _anymore," he weakly whispered, closing his eyes at the declaration.

Intending to put his shattered sibling back together, Raph firmly spoke up, "Yeah well, I _do_. And I'll be damned if ya ever pull somethin' like this again. Yer a fighter, Leo!" he coached, causing his brother to raise his eyes to his, defeat still lurking within them. "Ya don't quit juz cuz you've made a few bad choices."

"Don't you think that's a bit of an understatement?" Leo snorted, his face lacking all signs of humor.

"Don't gimme that crap," Raph scolded, a menacing finger pointed to his brother. "This ain't funny," he said in a serious tone of voice. "And I know ya don't thinks so, eitha'."

Leo's eyes silently travelled downwards to stare at the black sewer water they stood in, if only to avoid his brother's gaze. But it didn't stop Raph from continuing with his speech, "Now pull yerself togetha' and take some fuckin' responsibility!" he angrily commanded, practically holding himself on a leash, to keep his temper from going overboard.

As if only now hearing what Raph said to him, Leonardo's eyes shot up in disagreement, his pupils unusually large in the darkness. "How can I possibly step up to the responsibility after letting you down like I have?" he asked, anger tangible on his emotional voice.

"Would you juz drop that?" Raph exclaimed, his eye ridges furrowing in obvious irritation. He hated coming back to the same topic over and over again; it left them walking in never ending circles. "So ya messed up? We don't hold that against ya, not even Donnie."

Leo gritted his teeth, his voice low as he involuntary agreed, "Maybe not."

"So then why the hell should _you_?" Raphael yelled, hoping to reach the end of the seemingly undead argument.

"Because it's my _job_ to protect you," the eldest revealed, taking a moment to calm his voice before addressing his exasperated sibling. "An-and not only as a leader, but as a brother as well," he explained. "I can't just move on and pretend like it never happened." There was a silent look of despair in his eyes.

"I'm not askin' ya to," Raph swiftly corresponded, switching his body weight from one foot to another, "but _dammit_, Leo! We ain't kids anymore," he outburst, tired of having to remind his brother of the fact. Even while they still had a father, Leonardo couldn't give up on parenting them, protecting them - and it was beginning to push him right over the edge. "We can take care of ourselves, and whether ya want to or not, we're gonna make mistakes," he revealed, quickly continuing before Leo had the chance to protest. "But they're gonna be our _own_ mistakes. They don't concern you," he said, shaking his head to get his point across. He hastily swallowed the saliva that had begin to form in his mouth and bore his eyes into his brother, his voice uncharacteristically mature as he spoke, "The only responsibility you need ta worry about is yer own. Ya can't juz drop the ball when ya feel the weight's too heavy. It doesn't work like that."

"I know that, okay? I _know_," Leo insisted, appearing to be a little upset from his brother's slightly harsh, yet true words.

"Then whattahell's the problem?" Raph cried, unconsciously holding out his hands in a physical demand for answers. His fervent voice echoed within the stone walls of the wet underground tunnel, fading in the darkness.

Shaking his head to himself, Leo tried to answer, but it was as though the words didn't want to form on his tongue. "It's just.. It's too hard, Raph," he breathed, his throaty voice on the verge of sobbing. He met his brother's eyes with his own, looking as if he was about to tear his own heart open to him. "Do you know what it feels like to walk around with all these feelings of guilt and shame inside of you? Feelings of pain so deep..." the words died on his lips, unable to find the right ones. He shook his head in silent misery, closing his eyes in search of strength. "I-I can't even begin to describe it," he said, opening his mournful eyes, piercing them into his brother's. "I mean, do you have _any_ idea of what it's like for me to get through even a _day_?" he asked, his voice cracking in his throat.

"Fine," Raphael said, keeping his voice low in a desperate attempt to maintain his feelings in check. "I get it, yer depressed; you've hit rock bottom and ya feel like shit. And that's okay, _seriously,_" he genuinely added, having been down a few dark roads himself. "I understand pain, Leo," he told his brother, a trace of sympathy laced within his words. "But is it really worth screwin' yer family over?" he asked, twisting his features in distress.

Tears formed in Leonardo's eyes, and he made no attempt to hide them. In fact, he allowed them to flood his eyes as he stared at his brother through his blurry vision, his features slack of emotion. "I wish you wouldn't have to be involved in this," he whispered, "I really do. That I could somehow leave you out of it.."

"Well, ya can't," Raph firmly cut in, his voice and stance seemingly unaffected by his brother. However, the empathy he felt for the leader was quickly building in his eyes, the one part of himself he had never learned to control. They always managed to betray him. And so because of it, he blinked excessively.

"I know," Leo sighed, salty drops of pain raining down his face once he blinked in defeat. "It's just.. I..."

"Ya juz don't care," Raph stated, the sympathy in his eyes instantly transforming to anger, feelings of betrayal taking over him.

"No! That's _not_ it," the blue clad turtle objected, shaking his head in fragile determination. "You know that's not true, Raph. I would _gladly_ take a bullet for you, _any_ of you," he quickly added. "Not a single doubt in my mind. But I just, I..." his voice trailed off and he took in an unsteady breath, his tears beginning to take their toll on his vocal cords. "I can't help feeling this way," he whispered, his eyes pleading with his brother to understand. "It's not something I've chosen. I can't control it."

"Yer wrong," Raph protested, his voice more stern now than ever, matching the burned look in his eyes. "It's all a_bout_ control," he insisted, taking a small but solid step closer to his sibling, their faces barely two feet apart in the damp darkness. "It's not gonna happen overnight," he admitted, "but yer the only one who can pull yerself outta this."

"How?" Leo asked simply, the blunt question catching the red clad turtle completely off guard.

"Whaddaya mean 'how'?" he asked, his face twisting in critical confusion.

"Tell me how and I'll do it," Leonardo said, his voice still holding that same simple tone, as if they were discussing how to set the digital clock on the VCR.

"I dunno," Raph replied, slightly stunned by his brother's flat forwardness. "You could start by not killin' yerself," he spat, narrowing his eyes in hostility. "I.." Unable to finish the sentence, he sharply shrieked, "How the hell should _I_ know?"

"It's not that easy, is it?" Leo quietly pointed out, his eyes never swaying from the turtle in front of him.

Raphael felt his entire body fill up with rage, and he was forced to close the hands that hung restlessly by his sides, his fingers digging into his palms. His blood-crammed vessels rose underneath his skin, the adrenaline exposed even on the surface, leaving a visible skeleton of veins on the upper side of his hands. Warm streams of pain shot out towards his knuckles, whitening them to the point where he feared they might burst. Obsessively, he contracted his fists, only to accidentally pump more blood into them. "Still don't give the right ta quit," he growled, his teeth clenched in fury. He couldn't believe the causal tone his brother was using, the sudden detachment in his behavior. It infuriated him more than he ever thought possible.

"How can I not?" Leo asked plainly, an empty tear sliding down his cheek.

It was all it took for Raph to blow.

Without a single sound to warn his brother, Raphael remorselessly swung his right fist through the noisome air, his knuckles fiercely connecting with Leonardo's jaw, gracing the skin along his left jaw line as the punch travelled upwards, heat pumping it with energy. He then watched as his wincing brother fell backwards against the wall, his eyes shutting in pain once the shell scraped against the slippery surface of the bricks, a swift screeching sound rising above the thrumming noise of the many pipes in the tunnel.

Leo landed in the cold water with a dull splash, his open hands automatically breaking his fall by burying the palms in the greasy mud at the bottom of the tunnel. A throbbing pain exploded in his chin, leaving him with irrational thoughts and a foggy sense of being. Looking up at the brother that stood before him, Leo gently cupped his chin with one of his wet hands, water dripping from it once he lifted it above the surface.

It didn't pass many seconds until he could taste warm blood in his mouth, filling up along the bottom row of his teeth.

"The hell's wrong with you?" Raph yelled, ignoring the pounding sensation in his soar hand. He had hit people before; he knew the deal. It would certainly hurt for a while, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. And in this case, it was definitely worth it. The emotionless expression on his brother's face had been a replaced with a look of shock, his eyes wide in astonishment. "You've got people that care about you!" the standing turtle cried, his bulky form towering over his sibling. "You've got a family; people that love you. _I_ love you," he professed, surprising himself with his words. It wasn't that he didn't love his big brother, it was the act of saying it to his face that stumped him.

Leonardo looked just as stunned as his brother where he sat in the water with his back against the wall, a hand touching his chin. But he didn't have much time to bask in the feeling, for Raph wasn't done yet.

"How the fuck can you stand here in front of me and say somethin' like that?" he cried, his voice accidentally cracking at the loud volume. "You really wanna be that selfish?" he asked, peering down at the person in question, his eyes filled with fury and hurt.

"Of course not!" Leo spoke up, his voice already a bit muffled by the punch.

"Then don't be!" Raphael countered, his screaming voice quickly dying once the final words were out, leaving him panting in mental exhaustion. The two brothers silently looked at each other, having finally reached a mutual level of spiritual collapse.

Raph allowed a slow breath escape his lips, a weak attempt to vent his body of any residing anger. He calmly focused on his sibling with tired eyes, speaking with a sense of peace none of them had heard in him before. "Look, " he began, taking a small step closer to his seated brother. "I know we've neva' talked a lot, but if ya ever need to then juz tell me." There was a short pause, in which Leonardo broke away from his eyes and rested his empty gaze on the surface of the water, thinking. "I _wanna_ help you, Leo," Raph said devotedly, still studying his sibling in the darkness.

Leo's stare remained frozen, resting on the foul stream of sewage water. "What if you can't?" he fearfully asked, his voice barely reaching up to a whisper. He slowly looked up at his younger brother, removing his hand from the wounded chin.

"'Course I can," Raph replied confidently, his face mirroring the solid sureness behind his words. "I'm not juz gonna let ya die," he finished honestly.

"I know," Leo acknowledged as he met his brother's gaze, a tired smile hidden underneath the thick layers of desolation and despair.

A long silence swept in over the two, leaving them staring at each other in brotherly understanding. Finally, the red banded turtle broke the stillness,

"I really wanna help, bro," he insisted, his voice quiet yet firm as he spoke. "But ya gotta meet me halfway," he added, opening his right hand and holding it out for his sibling to take.

Leonardo's stare travelled from Raphael down to his inviting hand, silently considering his offer, battling with himself. After a few seconds filled with tension and anxiety, he looked up into his brother's waiting eyes - a turmoil of hope and desperation swimming within them.

Finally, with a wet hand risen from the cold water, Leo closed the distance and placed his faith in his brother's grip, folding his fingers around it. After sharing a small smile, Raphael effortlessly helped his big brother to his feet, once again facing each other on eye level.

It may not have been a guarantee that the leader would reach the end of his dark tunnel, but at least it was a start.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

_Seven months later, September 21st; 11:42 p.m._

With his shell leaned against the kitchen bar, Leonardo calmly studied April as she stood with her face buried in her open fridge, rummaging through the crammed shelves inside it. When accidentally getting butter on her fingers, the woman subtly ran her hand across the grey cotton fabric of her sweatshirt, unaware of the turtle's attentive eyes. Looking over his right shoulder, Leo found his red clad brother impatiently fumble with the grocery bag in his arms, his brown eyes peeking out through the shadow of his fedora, darting restlessly across the room.

The hothead's body language practically screamed for the two of them to go home.

"All right," April breathed, casually swinging the refrigerator door shut with a dull whoosh. While scratching herself behind her neck - her fingers entangled in her brown locks - she turned around to face her two guests. "Well, I'd say that's about it," she surmised, handing over a twelve pack of eggs to Raphael, who used brutal force to shove it down the already stuffed paper bag in his embrace.

"Why don't _I_ take that," Leo quickly suggested, slipping his right hand into the red masked turtle's grocery bag and snatching the package off eggs, saving them from what could have only resulted in an early demise.

Raph frowned as the older turtle neatly placed the item in his own bag, nonetheless he didn't say anything.

"I could get you another bag if you'd like," their friend offered, hiding her amusement as she watched the two brothers interact with each other.

"No, don't worry about it," Leo ensured the young woman. "We can manage. Besides," he added, looking at his friend with a warm smile, "one bag each is easier to carry." Turning to look at Raph, he then asked, "You ready to go?"

Raphael uncomfortably shifted the bag in his arms, an obvious look of irritation beginning to twist his features. "Stupid can's diggin' into my arm," he muttered, oblivious to his brother's question.

Accepting it as a good of answer as any, Leo turned back to April with a half smile. "Right," he concluded, glancing at their personal entrance window at the far end of the apartment. "We should probably head back."

April nodded in understanding, a faint look of relief breaking out on her petite features. "So, you sure you have everything?" she asked as she led them through the kitchen area, over to the dimly lit living room, where the faint sound of the television mumbled in the background.

"Uh.. I think so," Leonardo answered, not entirely certain. "What about Mikey's comic books?" he asked, turning to look at the turtle strolling next to him.

"Got 'em," Raph confirmed, patting his bag with one of his hands as if to prove the fact. "_And_ Donnie's crossword puzzles," he instinctively added, answering the eldest before he even had a chance to ask.

Leo nodded to himself in relief, only to halt in his steps a moment later. "What about the toothpaste?" he questioned, staring at his brother with an unsure look on his face. "Did you get the toothpaste?"

After taking a moment to think about it, Raph shook his head from one shoulder to the other, "No."

"I'll get it," April instantly volunteered, leaving for the bathroom before either of them had a chance to react. "You just get yourselves out on that balcony," she called over her shoulder as she waltzed down the narrow hallway, shuffling her bunny flippers on the smooth surface of her laminate floors.

With a sly grin curving his lips, Raphael turned to look at his brother, standing a few feet away from the open window. "Think we should take the 'subtle' hint?" he asked, a thick layer of sarcasm dressing his words.

Leonardo couldn't help but smile at his brother, the corner of his mouth stretching by pure reflex.

* * *

An icy wind grabbed a hold of a used candy bar wrap, sweeping it across the cracked pavement like a dry leaf, dancing wildly in the air as if it didn't have a single care in the world. Without the faintest warning, a heavy foot tramped it into the ground, leaving it crumpled and lifeless on the cold concrete.

Leonardo carelessly strolled onwards, his firm pace matching his ally's to such a degree, it would have been eerie for any outsider to witness. But the few number of people that passed them on the sidewalk were too absorbed in themselves to even take notice to the peculiar brother pair that walked in the yellow atmosphere of the streetlights; both dressed in identical trench coats and fedoras, both carrying a grocery bag to their chest.

Cautiously peering up from beneath the parasol of his hat, Leo searched for the familiar rusty mailbox that told him of the left turn they had to make, in order to lead them to the desolated alley that held the particular manhole they were heading towards. People rarely passed there; it was one of the few places in the city where they could slip into the sewers unnoticed.

"Think they're still awake?" Raphael asked, causing the oldest turtle to flinch at the sudden sound of his voice.

"Huh?" he asked in surprise, turning to look at his red masked sibling. Raph sent him a knowing glare, as if to inform him he wouldn't ask the same question twice. "Uhh.. I don't know," Leo finally answered, slightly shaking his head to himself. "But we should probably keep it down, just in case," he decided, holding the paper bag closer to his clothed plastron.

Raph grinned mischievously to himself, keeping his focus ahead of him as he walked. "I bet'cha ten bucks Mikey's waitin' up fer his frozen pizza," he predicted, the extent of his smirk growing substantially on his face.

"What about Don?" Leo asked, turning to his brother with a similar smile. "Don't you think he's up drinking his cold cup of coffee by now?"

Raph chuckled briefly at the thought. "Naah, I dunno," he then replied, shaking his head in disagreement. "He looked pretty beat when we left. Damn idiot stayed up all night ta perfect the security system," he affably muttered under his breath.

The eldest nodded in response, shifting with the bag in his arms. "Yeah," he quietly agreed. "You know," he then added, turning to look over his left shoulder, meeting his brother's shaded eyes. "Sometimes I think he's doing things like that, just to keep himself busy. Not that I'm an expert or anything," he quickly added, "but I didn't know there was anything wrong with the old system."

Raphael shrugged indifferently at the theory. "Well ya know Donnie," he said, giving his brother a meaning glance, "always tryin' ta refine the perfect."

Leonardo nodded silently at the comment, noticing how his younger brother abruptly tensed in his stance. "What?" he worriedly asked, trying to find eye contact with his sudden distant brother.

The younger turtle promptly stopped in his tracks, his sharp eyes reaching beyond the calm of the street, scanning the graffiti covered building on the other side. "Check out Stacey's jewellery store," he mumbled, his vigilant gaze fixated on the barricaded windows of the shop.

Leo followed his sibling's stare, trying to look past the black checked wall of security bars. It was dark inside the closed store, but it didn't take long for him to detect a group of shadows hurriedly moving around in there, stealing whatever they could get their filthy hands on. The turtle felt his strangled heart sink to the pit of his stomach, a chilling sensation running up his rigid spine. He nervously held the grocery bag closer, willing for his self-control to return as he tore his gaze from the shop and turned back to look at his brother.

"Stupid punks," Raph grumbled, his dark eyes focused on the small shop, a hungry fire coming to life within them. "You'd think they'd break into some otha' store every once n' awhile," he said. "Jewellery are too damn cliché."

Leonardo nodded reluctantly, a part of him wishing his brother hadn't spotted the crime. It was no secret that he hadn't been out on the field since Donatello's near-death injury. Now, his brother was fully recovered, and Leo himself had made amazing progress since that tragic night he had meant to take his own life, thanks to his patient brothers. Out of respect for Leo's shame and guilt, Raph had unwillingly agreed to keep the terrifying incident between just the two of them, simply informing the others of the serious danger considering the leader's mental state, and that he needed their support and understanding to get back on his feet again.

There had of course been questions, and Raphael had been more than willing to answer them, saying the two younger ninjas had a right to know. But until Leo himself felt ready to answer the questions that would follow with his answer, he thought it best to keep the truth between the two of them.

In spite of the obvious secrets, his brothers had still been very supportive and kind, simply because all of them wanted what was best for their big brother, and Leo rarely found himself alone. It was as if there was always one person around to keep an overprotective eye on him. But even with the invaluable help of his family, Leo still didn't feel ready to join them on their late night patrols, simply because of the fear of freezing up in the heat of battle again. And not only didn't he participate in the nightly crime fighting, he didn't even carry his katana anymore, his precious spirit in steel that were given to him by his father and tutor. They represented a past he was yet to embrace, a future his self-esteem still didn't have the strength to be a part of. And so for the time being, they remained on the weaponry wall inside the dojo, openly hanging there to remind him of the day he would have to take them back.

The day he was to reclaim his destiny.

Aware of this, Raphael turned to look at his silent brother, trying to split his attention between the two matters. "Got any coins?" he absentmindedly asked, keeping one of his eyes locked on the store.

Brought back to the present issue, Leo clumsily let go of the grocery bag with his left hand, locking the bag between his chin and plastron as his free hand slipped into his pocket, fumbling for any round objects. Finding it empty, Leo hurriedly dove into the other pocket, the tips of his fingers bumping into a small group of cold and noisy coins. He quickly grasped them in his hand and presented them to his brother, who simply nodded in approval, appearing to be a thousand times calmer than Leo.

Swiftly looking around himself, Raph impulsively bent over and placed his groceries behind the concealment of an overstuffed trash can. He was quick to steal Leo's bag and put it next to the first one, shoving them closer to the wall with his foot.

Leonardo nervously fiddled with the collection of coins in his hand, knowing his brother wasn't planning for them to stand by for this one. He could almost smell the adrenaline that was building up inside his brother, filling the chilly midnight air like an invisible cloud of soaring tension, seeking his nostrils like airborne poison.

"A'right," the red masked turtle decided, pulling up the collar of his coat around his throat, hiding his abnormal features within the safety of the tattered garment. Piercing eyes were aimed at Leo, his gaze boring straight into his core with their surging intensity. "Well, I'm gonna teach this stupid fucks a lesson," he said, his voice low and controlled as he spoke. "You juz get yerself to the nearest payphone. I'll make sure they won't be able ta go anywhere till the cops get there," he instructed.

Relieved to hear he was off the hook, and yet worried for his brother who was not, Leo wordlessly nodded, sliding his hand back inside the pocket to release the coins. Raphael broke their eye contact when lowering his attention to his chest, unbuttoning the two lowest buttons of his trench coat to be able to reach for his sais more easily, assuming he might need them.

"Be careful," Leo said, his voice weak and hushed, and yet more lucid than any time before that.

The younger turtle looked up to meet his brother's stare with a bright spark in his darkened eyes, gleaming with impish anticipation. "Ain't I always?" he asked, the hints of a devilish smirk peeking up behind the collar of his coat.

* * *

Swift, graceful steps led Raphael across the cold rooftop, where dark puddles of water had been left behind by yesterday's unmerciful rainstorm. The tails of his bandanna was claimed by the chilling winds of the night, flapping them madly against the left side of his head, his intense stare unaffected by their bothersome touch. Finally, he reached the end of the rooftop and quietly leaned over, one of his hands gripping the cement frame of the edge.

Below, six stories beneath him, the backdoor of the shop stood open, informing him of the intruders' chosen entrance and exit. One hand instinctively curled around the handle of his sai, cautiously making sure it was still there. Then, after displaying a crooked smile to the moon, the turtle hurried to the other side of the rooftop, reaching the fire escape of the building.

He slowly climbed down the ladder, quietly landing on the rickety platform of the rusty, old object, knowing from years of experience how to descend them with a mute invisibility. Once there was just one floor left between him and the pavement, chattering voices emerged from within the darkness of the store, three black clad shapes stepping out into the unprotected open.

Hidden in the shadows of the fire escape above him, Raph grinned.

With a quick, soundless movement, the turtle leaped through the air, the ends of his mask flapping wildly above him as plunged to the ground. The simple bent of his knees allowed him to land on the concrete with nothing but a soft thud, professionally avoiding the small puddle of water next to him. He took a careful step back towards the wall, graciously melting together with the blackness, becoming one with the environment. Protected by the shadows, his hands caressed the worn handles of his sais as he spied on the trio of criminals, his adrenaline beginning to surge through him.

One soft step at a time slowly led him closer to the unsuspecting thugs, who were busy stuffing their profit into their pockets, joking amongst each other with naive cockiness. Like a lion patiently sneaking closer to its prey, Raph silently gained on them, never once stepping into the illumination of the moon. Finally, there was only a few feet between himself and one of the teenagers, who had hidden his face underneath the safety of the black hood of his sweater. As soon as the punk turned his back to the red masked protector of the night, Raph used the opportunity to make his presence known and step out of the shadows, mockingly patting the young man on his right shoulder.

By the time the thug turned around to scream at the sight, Raph had already knocked him unconscious with a powerful blow to his abdomen, his fist still tightened as the human fell to the ground. The loud thump of the body alerted the other two robbers, both of them turning around in surprise. Their expressions quickly transformed into fear once they spotted the armed figure in the hat and coat.

"The hell did you come from?" one of them managed to ask, taking a shaky step backwards.

"Does it really matta'?" Raph calmly wondered, his voice low and threatening as he reached inside his belt for his final sai, twirling it between his fingers in purpose to scare his enemies furthermore. He certainly enjoyed the ghostly look on their faces once they spotted the deadly steel in the pale moonlight, reflecting the gleam of the night.

One of the men managed to reach inside his warm coat for a weapon of his own, a small knife that he hesitantly unfolded in his unsteady grip, as if uncertain he would be able to use it.

With a movement so fast it was invisible to the naked eye, Raphael closed the distance between them with a kick to the man's wrist, sending his knife flying into the bricks of the wall, clattering against the concrete ground in the darkened alley.

The man said nothing, but simply stood there with his mouth gaping in shock, matching the size of his widened eyes. A short moment later, Raph whirled around and forced his right elbow into the stomach of the human, causing him to choke on a gasped breath of air and drop unconscious to the ground, his motionless body landing in a dirty puddle of water.

Turning his attention to the last thug, Raph masterfully played with his sais in his hands, deliberately scaring him as he approached him in the darkness; slowly, steadily.

Soon the man found himself backed up against the wall, his trembling palms pressed against the rough surface of the bricks on either side of his thighs, nervously grasping for non-existent help in the concrete.

"You picked the wrong day ta break into this place," Raph said, stopping right in front of the man, his own identity well protected by the shadow of his fedora. Silently, he reached his right hand inside his partly open trench coat, slipping one of his sais into the leather belt, keeping his eyes fixated on the teenager the entire time.

"C'mon, man," the punk stammered, caught in Raphael's piercing gaze. "We didn't mean anything by it. I'll put it all back, I swear," he weakly promised, fear written on his every movement, his every sound.

"Nice try," Raph replied, completely unaffected by the coward's plea.

"C'mon," the man nervously continued, shaking his head in protest, tears of desperation beginning to well up in his eyes. "I'm sorry, okay? Please, just... Don't hurt me."

"It ain't gonna hurt that much," Raph assured, but then smirked and added on a second thought, "Well, except fer when ya wake up."

Before the man had the chance to ask him what that meant, Raph tactically punched the man in the face, making sure he would still be there when the police came, making sure he would pay for his crime. Swaying to one side, the out cold thug collapsed to the ground, a bruise appearing on his right cheek once the skin scraped against the wet concrete.

Sliding his final sai into his belt, the ninja bent over to check the man's jacket for any concealed weapons. After all, one of them drew a knife on him. Foremost, he searched the inner pockets - his fingers fumbling blindly in the darkness - before moving on to the rest of the pockets and then finally his pants. To his great relief the man came out clean, so Raph rose to his full height.

He quietly wandered up to inspect the second thug, water dully splashing underneath his bare feet as he stepped in the puddles of the alley. Once reaching the man, who laid still on his back, his shaved head lolled to one side, Raph searchingly bent forward, reaching inside the man's dark green, windproof jacket, thoroughly scanning each pocket with his hands.

Six yards down the alley, a forth man stepped through the open backdoor, his attention aimed on the money he was stuffing his pants pockets with, an evident look of contentment painting his features. But once he lifted his face to search for his friends, he instantly knew their little break in had gone terribly wrong.

His partners laid sprawled on the ground, none of them moving a single limb in the darkness; none of them showing any signs of life.

But what really scared him, what caused his breath to clog in his throat and his blood to run cold in his veins, was the odd figure in the trench coat, hunched over one of his friends, going through the pockets of his clothes.

The man unsteadily tried to hold back his breath, standing frozen in the doorway. He lifted a trembling hand to reach inside his black leather coat, nervously grasping for help in his inner pocket as he suppressed his overwhelming instinct to panic, the consuming need to scream. Once the object was locked in his hold, the man slowly brought out his hand, revealing a black revolver in his grip.

He desperately closed his eyes - saying a silent prayer to anyone who was willing to listen - while he shakily cocked the trigger of the gun, his thumb trembling violently with the numbing force of hesitation. After opening his eyes and filling his lungs with a muffled breath of air, the man weakly lifted the weapon, pointing it at the unsuspecting back of the bulky stranger.

The eternal second of destiny passed in the darkness, leaving a lifetime of memories in its crucial print, before the apprehensive silence in the alley was forever broken, destroyed by the sharp explosion of a fired bullet.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

_September 22nd; 0:04 a.m._

The splitting sound of the gunshot clamorously bounced off the rock-hard surface of the brick walls, leaving a haunting echo in its lethal trail, one that seemed to linger forever in the midnight air. With his halted heart caught in his tight throat, Raphael stiffly rose to his full height, instinctively turning around to look for the source of the sound. Before he even had the slightest chance of reacting, another bullet ripped through the air, penetrating the eerie stillness for the second time that night.

Standing by the open backdoor was yet another mugger, his back turned to Raph while his front was locked with the oldest of the turtles, who'd miraculously appeared out of nowhere. Their stance led Raph to believe they were struggling over something. The gun perhaps? Oddly, none of them moved, but just stood there - face to face - looking at each other while stunned waves of silence passed between them.

And then, everything changed.

Leonardo's knees suddenly gave way, folding to the heavy weight of his body like a stringless marionette, leaving him on the back of his shell on the wet pavement. Still standing in the same position, as if physically nailed to the ground, was the forth robber. His right hand was raised at the level of his waist, trembling beyond his control; and locked in his cramped grip was a black gun, smoke still fuming from the dark barrel.

The red masked turtle stared at the scene with wide eyes of disbelief, not a single breath departing from his frozen lips. "...no," he fearfully whispered, his voice stolen by the shock, strangled by the clammy hands of terror. Blinking furiously at the darkness that seemed to conquer his vision, the turtle ripped his soul open and screamed with every feeling that burned within his being, _"NOO!"_

Without even knowing it, Raph recklessly dashed towards to gunman, tearing open the naked skin beneath his feet, leaving faint prints of his own blood on the rough concrete behind him.

The human was violently woken from his trance by the furious cry of the turtle, turning around in shock just in time to meet his attacker, the gun still shaking in his limp hand.

There was absolutely nothing he could do to stop the mad ninja from tearing his body apart to the point beyond recognition.

Blinded with the forces of rage, desperation and revenge, Raphael fiercely spun a kick to the teenager's jaw, sending him flying a few feet away from Leonardo. His momentarily weightless body half whirled through the air like a spinning football, until gravity once again decided to kick in and forced the thug to crash on the asphalt, one of his hands locked underneath his chest. Reaching for the gun that had conveniently landed only a small arm's length away from him, the scared teen desperately scrambled to his feet, stress controlling his fingers as he worked to cock the trigger, watching in fright as his attacker steadily approached him, reaching inside the trench coat for his dependable weapon.

Tightening his hold on the handle of the sai, Raph effortlessly crossed the distance between the two in the matter of a single second, forcefully embedding his weapon in the wounded man's abdomen, causing his victim to gasp at the powerful stab of pain.

The black pistol helplessly slipped through the man's loosened grasp, landing on the wet asphalt with a screeching bounce.

Clasping the human's right shoulder with his left grip, Raph forced the pointy steel of his peculiar sword deeper inside the convulsing body, leaving the tip of the sai peering out through the lower part of the back, a warm trail of blood seeping out from the circle shaped hole. He remorselessly looked into the petrified eyes of his target, gritting his teeth in unmasked pleasure as the human breathlessly coughed on the pool of red liquid that rapidly filled up his insides.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" he sadistically questioned with a raspy breath, boring his rigid stare into the wavering depths of the wounded. With a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Raph violently twisted the miniature trident in the human's flesh, causing him to once again gasp in pain, floods of blood gurgling inside his choking throat.

Unable to do anything, the young man only blinked at the warm tears that burned in his squinting eyes, spilling uncontrollably down his pale cheeks.

With a swift move of hatred, Raph roughly pulled back his sai, leaving a gaping hole in its place, reaching all the way through the man's abdomen. Warm, sticky blood covered the dark blue college sweater the teenager wore underneath his leather jacket.

Deciding to desert the shooter on the brink of death, Raphael flatly released his hold on him, watching with an emotionless expression on his face as the sapless thug dropped to the ground, a pair of trembling hands reaching for the wound in his stomach, hyperventilating and shaking uncontrollably.

Even within the deepest corner of Raph's eyes, there was no regret to be found; his entire being was drunk with a sense of bittersweet justice.

A faint whimper behind him suddenly caught Raph's attention. Remembering his older brother, he quickly turned around and spotted him, lying helpless on his back, his eyes facing the endless ceiling of distant stars. His bald head was exposed to the light of the moon as the fedora had been dropped to the ground beside him.

"Leo!" Raph cried, sliding his bloody sai back inside his belt as he rushed up to his sibling. Upon reaching him, he discovered his big brother's trench coat to be completely drenched in blood. A sudden pang of distress blossomed in pit of his stomach, leaving his throat tight and sore. "Shit.." he breathed in horror, instantly dropping to his knees before his sibling, his hands slightly hesitating before he managed to bring himself to tear the bloody garment open, uncovering his brother's red painted plastron. "Shit!" he repeated, this time a little louder than before, a little more desperate.

When sweeping his trembling fingers across the sea of blood that covered Leo's entire lower plastron, Raph soon found the source of the flow. There was a small bullet hole at the very center of Leo's abdomen, blood pouring out from it at a lethally dangerous pace.

Keeping in mind what his purple masked brother had once told him, Raph feared the essential aorta had been punctured.

_No.._

"..Raph," Leo weakly mumbled, his fragile body shaking frenetically as he tried to raise his seemingly heavy head from the ground to look at his brother. "I di…I didn't freeze up," he tiredly murmured, a hint of satisfaction twinkling in his frightened eyes.

"Lay down," Raphael quickly ordered, guiding his sibling back down with his gentle yet urgent touch. "No movin'." He carelessly tore his own trench coat open, hurriedly pulling it off himself. "Just stay calm, a'right? I know what ta do," he mumbled in a hoarse tone while at the same time crumpling the tattered coat in his hands, using it as pressure to stop the blood flow. He heavily pressed the ball of clothing to the wounded area of his brother's stomach, determined to do everything in his power to save him. He had almost lost one of his brothers because of massive blood loss once before; he sure wasn't planning on giving another one of them up this time.

Not now, not ever.

While his pulse drummed madly in his temples, as if trying to punch a hole in his skull, Raph vigorously fumbled for the cell phone he kept tucked inside his belt, his blood-smeared fingers almost dropping it in the midst of panic. He quickly flapped the small device open and pressed speed dial before he brought the phone to his ear, holding his breath once the familiar dialing tone emerged from the tiny speaker of the phone.

"Put Donnie on," Raph shortly ordered once his youngest brother picked up on the other end. "I don't give a fuck if he's asleep! Leo's been _shot_, dammit! Put Donnie on the phone!"

He breathed heavily once silence followed and pressed both of his hands to the already wet coat, pinching the phone between his head and right shoulder as he waited for his brother's voice to appear on the other line, his heart beating ferociously in his rigid chest.

"Leo's been shot," he hastily repeated once the reply came. "I dunno, some fuck. Ye need ta get 'ere!" he quickly commanded, trying to keep his focus on the quivering sibling in front of him, watching in terror as consciousness gradually faded from Leo's bewildered gaze. "Right outside a' Stacey's," he added, "back in the alley...

"Stay _calm_?" he suddenly yelled into the phone. "How the fuck am I supposed ta stay calm when there's a fuckin' _hole_ in his stomach!" he cried, outrageous. "I did," he replied, this time much calmer. "My trench coat, but it ain't helpin'. H-he's loosin' too much blood, I..." He paused for a moment as Donatello interrupted him.

"No, but the co--"

Again, he was cut off.

"Whaddaya mean 'I can't move 'im?' He called the _cops_, Don!" Silence followed his statement.

"Juz get the hell over here!" he finished in irritation, leaving his brother with the order as he flapped the red cell phone shut, sticking it back inside his leather belt. "Help's on the way," he instantly told his brother, finally being able to focus all his senses on him.

Leo shook violently, as though he was lying in a ditch filled with cold, unmerciful snow, freezing to death. "Y-you need to leave," he stammered, his voice dangerously weak as he spoke, yet the concerned look in his eyes spoke volumes of the determination behind his words. It was the first time in months he had spoken like the true leader he was, worried about his little brother's safety.

Raph stubbornly pressed his hands harder to the bullet wound, feeling his brother's warm blood beneath them. "Like hell I will," he hissed, avoiding his brother's stare as he fought to stop the bleeding. "You juz stay calm and Don'll be here any minute." He could easily recognize the denial in his own voice, but he had made himself swear not to admit it, not even to himself.

"Raph," Leonardo breathed unsteadily, "the cops.."

Raphael looked up from underneath the parasol of his filthy, brown hat and met his brother's gaze, tenacity shooting from the mahogany brown pools of his own. "I ain't leavin'," he said sternly, simply. He caught the silent layer of understanding that washed over the blue masked turtle's eyes, along with the tears that brimmed in them.

The fabric of the crumpled coat was quickly becoming soaked with blood; Raph could even feel the warm liquid as it filled up between his tightened fingers, staining his precious hope with its vital reality. "Dammit, Leo," he gently swore. "Why d'ya hafta go n' do that?" his voice came as a mere whisper, and sad eyes rested on his perishing brother, who seemed to grow paler by the second, his body shaking beyond all control.

Leo managed the smallest of smiles, even in the deepest of pains. He weakly lifted his right hand and placed it on top of the both of Raphael's, fondly cupping them. "You.. you saved me, Raph," he breathlessly whispered, a warm tear sliding down his left temple. "M' just returning the favor."

Raph felt his throat contract and had to use both mental and physical force to swallow the lump that threatened to surface with a powerful sob. Even so, it didn't keep his eyes from stinging, like needles burning his vision. "Juz hang in there," he managed to let out, adjusting one of his hands to squeeze Leo's grip. "He told me they'd be here soon. Real soon," he quietly added in sync with a stubborn teardrop that managed to escape the prison of his control and slid down his face, leaving a wet trail along the slope of his beak.

Leo nodded slowly, closing his eyes as he fought to control his labored breath, shuddering savagely. A crimson trail of blood surfaced at the corner of his mouth.

"Leo," Raph called, knowing his brother had to stay conscious in order to stay alive. However, there came no reaction from the eldest. "Leo!" he cried a second time, this time causing his older brother's eyes to shoot open, awareness missing in his flickering stare. "Stay with me, dammit!" he brutally commanded, a lifetime of fear laced within the anger of his words.

The wounded turtle began to cough violently, his body shaking on the ground while his throat quickly filled up with dark blood. But it was as though he was too tired to cough, for even through the contractions of his torso, his heavy eyelids inevitably began to drop.

"Leo!" Raph yelled, practically ordering his brother to stay awake as he moved closer to him, his padded knees digging into the right side of Leo's waist.

The leader's hazel brown eyes shot wide-open once again, yet all signs of intelligence were lost in their foggy stare.

"Leo!" Raph cried, the name dying in his throat with a choked sob. He frantically moved one of his hands to cup the left side of Leonardo's face, lifting his clammy head from the ground only to witness the dull eyes shut themselves again, the pupils glazing over beneath them. "No!" he yelled, adding his left hand to be able to frame the stiff features of his brother, the gore on his hands mingling with the blood that covered the tremoring ninja's lips.

More than ever, the eldest shook in his arms, his rugged breath turning into pants of hyperventilation, while the trembling vibrations of his body evolved into a full-blown seizure, cramping feverishly. Not knowing what else to do, Raph held his brother closer, a weeping fire burning fiercely within the walls of his throat, successfully tearing his soul apart, piece by piece.

"Leo.." he harshly murmured in his brother's ear as he squeezed his convulsing form in his arms, willing for the endless spasms to stop.

Finally, after hugging his sibling for a few twenty seconds of unendurable agony, they did.

Startled, shocked and - more than anything - scared, Raph loosened his hold on the turtle, lifting his burning face to be able to look at his brother.

The leader laid still in his arms, limp. His pale head was heavily lolled to one shoulder, prints of blood left on both sides of his face where Raph had grasped him; his chin was spattered with coughs of blood, following a red trail down his jaw line. But there was no life in his face. No pain, no nothing.

He was hollow, empty.

"...no," Raph breathed in a whisper, instinctively moving one of his hands to clutch his brother's right wrist. He strongly pressed his thumb against the skin, listening for the soft brush of the pulse.

There was nothing.

"No!" he cried in denial, desperately moving his hand to check the sweaty throat for a pulse, all while maniacally repeating the words: "no, no, no," to himself. With his fingertip pressed to the clammy skin of the throat, the ninja once again held his breath, waiting for the ever so familiar thumping that was meant to take place beneath his touch.

Nothing.

_"No!"_ he furiously cried, tears of anger and sadness turning the healthy white in his eyes into a broken red. Wanting to hold his big brother in his embrace, needing to feel him, Raph hysterically gathered the slaughtered body in his arms, the blood stained arms hanging limp from his bone-crushing hold. He woefully squeezed his flooded eyes shut and buried his chin in the small dent of Leo's tearstained temple, weeping.

Never in his entire life had he felt so alone, so utterly abandoned.

As sobs of disbelief were released in the consuming darkness of the alley, Raphael frantically searched his brain for a change that might have been able to save his brother, a move just a little bit faster to stop the bullet from plunging into him. An endless list of 'should haves' came to life in his mind, taking over it. He should've heard the thug as he came out the door, or at least considered the possibility of there being a forth one. He should have expected him. He should have seen it coming. He should've. He should've…

But he didn't.

Clasps of regret curled around the clay, Raph's muscles cramping because of the fierce hold he had on his sibling. Soon, silent sobs rocked his body, his shoulders heaving rapidly in anger, endlessly.

In the distance, he could hear the wailing siren of a police car, echoing in the tragic night like a brutal reminder of his dead brother's words.

_Y-you need to leave._

Raphael breathlessly blinked away his persistent tears and lifted his head from Leonardo's damp skin, his face dripping with drops of immortal sorrow. Looking up from under his fedora, he turned his attention to the yellow source of light that slipped inside the alley through the street outside of it.

_Raph, the cops.._

He took a deep breath in order to fill his lungs with a fresh dose of strength and weakly staggered to his feet, holding his brother's heavy body by his limp shoulders, the back of the shell facing his knees. Hunched over the corpse, Raph hurriedly walked backwards down the alley, dragging his fallen brother with him towards the convenient manhole he'd spotted by the entrance of the alley, disappearing into the shadows.

The screaming noise of the siren grew louder with each second, now barely a mile away from the scene.

Lying in the narrow alley were the four thugs, still unconscious on the ground; and the only trace left of the two ninjas was the torn trench coat and fedora, that and the large pool of blood in which they laid.


	15. Epilogue

**A/N:** _Thank you SO much, every single person to leave a review for this. You couldn't possibly imagine how happy you've made me with your words. I'll look back on them years from now, re-living the feeling of having touched someone without even meeting the person. Thank you all for making that feeling possible. Also, I would like to point out that while writing this, Leonardo as a character has grown immensly on me. Getting inside a head of the unknown turned out to be quite the experiance. And please, before you leave, remember to drop a review and tell me what you thought. Thank you._

* * *

**Epilogue**

_Three weeks later, October 13th; 1:26 a.m. _

With his teeth gritted in indestructible frustration, Raphael swung another punch at the punching bag. A breath of withheld air hissed out between his teeth as his fist connected with the black, leather surface of his opponent, causing it to dangle restlessly from the bolt it hung by from the low ceiling of his sub car, squeaking in protest. Raph knew the bolt had to be tightened, or the bag might risk dropping to the floor, but due to his disappointment at tonight's eventless patrol, he simply attacked the bag with another punch, fist clenched in anger. The collision of his punch traveled all the way from the knuckles of his hand to the very core of his shoulder. He felt his sore muscles protest to his movements, but it felt good. It made him feel _alive_.

He had never been one to block out the pain; he embraced it. He treasured the feeling of physical sensation, awareness of one's body and its mortality. But no matter how much he loved pushing his body to its limits, he had never been one to deny himself water when he needed it.

Exhausted, he wiped his forehead clean of sweat with the back of his right hand, his plastron still heaving from the workout. He quickly scanned his room for a towel and found one from this morning, carelessly thrown over the open door of his wooden closet. Raph walked the three steps that parted him from the closet and snatched the camel colored towel; he rubbed his face with the slightly damp terry cloth, savoring the touch of the soft fabric against his skin. He lazily threw the cloth across his shoulder, draping it around the back of his neck to hang down over his plastron. Then, with the instinct of thirst mastering his mind, Raphael walked up to the exit of the sub car and grabbed its handles, pulling the two doors open with unnecessary force.

He stepped out into the darkened living room, absentmindedly taking in the details. The small lamp on top of the TV set was the only source of light, showering the quiet subway station with a dull, yellowish glow. A tattered, spruce green blanket laid thrown across the back of the old, brown plush-couch, and left on the wooden coffee table was his dinner plate, traces of ketchup smeared across the scratched surface of the porcelain. Apart from the kitchen and bathroom carriages, all sub cars were closed. And those two that were still left open had nothing but blackness to offer beyond their thresholds. However, there was a pale light seeping out from Donatello's car, indicating the sleepless turtle was still awake, but he had only left one of his windows uncovered, so the light did very little to illuminate the rest of their home.

Raphael aloofly continued on his path toward the kitchen sub car, pulling the two doors open with a short-lived racket. Hitting one of the two light switches on the wall to his right, the lamp above the kitten table lit up, hanging close the deal surface, exposing crumbs left by one of the seats.

_Mikey._

Raph realized his orange masked brother must have already been up for his late night sandwich. He probably just missed him by a few minutes, but that didn't bother him - not at all. He actually preferred drinking his water by himself, because it wasn't like the two of them had anything to say to each other anyway. They would just be left sitting there across from each other, Michelangelo desperately trying to come up with something to talk about.

No, he definitely preferred being left to himself, Raph decided as he opened up one of the upper cabinets and grabbed a glass, turning on the tap in front of him. He stuck his finger through the jet, waiting for the water to turn cold as ice. Once the nerves in his skin pleaded for mercy, Raph quickly put his glass beneath the tap and filled it up to the point where it overflowed. Lifting the glass to his lips, he hungrily swallowed half of its containment, gulping loudly as he drank. Then, in thirst for more, he refilled the glass and turned off the tap.

Soundless steps led him to the rectangular shaped dining table where he pulled out a chair for himself, the solid wood scraping lightly against the floor. Once seated with his face pointed to the open door, Raph put down his glass of water in front of him, his fingers loosely curled around it. Even though his fingertips barely brushed the glass, he could still feel the cold of the water through it, its chilling force almost burning his skin. He lightly tapped his fingers against the glass, watching in mild amusement as clear prints were left on the foggy surface of the glass, leaving tiny windows in the thick layer of dripping mist.

Turning back to stare at the open door, he soon noticed the towering weight of the silence; if he would focus hard enough, he could even mark the exact beat of his heart. But he never bothered to, because he didn't mind the silence. On the contrary, he knew it quite well by now. Like an old friend stopping by at night, it hung in the air of the underground tunnels, molding as one with the suffocating blackness, taking up most of the space in the lair. And like welcoming that old friend into his home, Raph willingly surrendered to the advancing darkness and allowed it to seep into his being, filling his mind with dull thoughts of nothing, numbing his emotions with feelings of nonentity.

Drunk on solitude, Raph aimed his impassive stare at the door and slowly lifted the glass to his lips, tipping it over as he drank a few mouthfuls. He vacantly licked his moist lips and set down his glass in front of him, the light of the lamp casting dark shadows across his slack features.

His expressionless eyes soon turned alert once he heard a sub car door opening outside of the kitchen; the noise was very subdued, as if not to attract any attention. Soon, he could detect footsteps tapping lightly on the concrete surface of the living room platform, almost like a child tiptoeing past his parents' bedroom to avoid waking them. A faint flicker of curiosity twitched at the corner of the red masked turtle's mouth as he tightened his hold on the glass and lifted it with swiftness, wolfing down what was left of the cool water.

* * *

Leaning closer to the computer screen, Donatello squinted his eyes at the pale light and absently scrolled down the page with his finger barely touching the mouse. Overstrained, chocolate brown pools traveled down the narrow text on the screen, trying to find the solution to his unexpected problem with the installation program of his virus guard. What merely should have taken a few minutes to install had instead turned into hours, and the cold cup of coffee sitting next to him on his desk did very little to keep him functional.

Finding nothing of interest on the page, Donnie clicked on another link for more information. The latest web page gradually unwrapped itself on the screen, uploading a long page of extended paragraphs and microscopic letters. Don sighed and leaned even further to the bright display, narrowing his eyes in forced concentration. In the midst of his skimming, a light knock on the metal doors suddenly interrupted him.

"Yeah?" he called, turning his attention to the door on the right, almost by the other end of the sub car. His shrunken pupils quickly dilated as soon as they were turned away from the glowing screen and found solace in the looming darkness.

Without an answer in return, the two doors were slid open, revealing a mask-less turtle on the threshold. "Got a minute?" Michelangelo asked where he stood in the doorway, the left side of his face illuminated by the dim light in the living room.

Don glanced at the text filled screen on his desk before turning back to his brother. "Sure," he said, turning his desk chair around to be able to face his visitor, the wheels of the furniture rolling with ease across the floor. "I was looking for an excuse to drop this, anyway," he briefly mumbled under his breath.

Hesitant steps led the smaller turtle inside the room, his eyes grazing the floor as he walked. "I uh.. I couldn't sleep, so I was kinda wondering if you would do somethin' for me?" he mumbled, looking up where he stopped three feet away from his sibling.

Donnie looked at his younger brother and soon noticed how red and swollen his eyes were; it seemed extra visible when he didn't have his bandanna on to hide them. He instantly felt a warm breeze of sympathy and grief blow up inside of him, tugging at his worn heart like a child would pull his daddy's hand for attention. "What is it?" he asked, his concern shining through in his humble voice.

Mike nervously rubbed his right palm against his thigh, his eyes darting sporadically across the floor until he finally found the courage to look up at his brother. "I thought maybe you could get me my Walkman," he timidly said. "You know, to help me sleep."

"Um.. sure," Don replied, slightly baffled by the question. He turned back to the computer screen and added the page to his favorites to be able to access it in the morning. "So where is it?" he absently wondered as he shut down the Internet window.

"It's uh..." Mike awkwardly cleared his throat. "It's in Leo's room."

Donatello's finger instantly froze on the clicker of the mouse, and his thoughts halted as if they had ran straight into a wall. With stinging eyes lowered to his keyboard, he finally parted his lips to speak, his voice a lot more hoarse than he had expected. "Why in Leo's room?"

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, insecurity quickly spreading throughout his body. "He.. he borrowed it earlier. He had trouble sleeping, so I-I offered it to him."

The purple-clad turtle swallowed the fresh lump in his throat and proceeded with turning off the computer, shutting down one window at a time. The soft clicking of the mouse solely filled the air inside the narrow room.

"Donnie, I--"

"Just go back to bed, Mikey," Donatello said, keeping his eyes locked on the screen, focusing on his limited list of options on the toolbar window.

"Look," Mike began, taking a small step closer to his sibling. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I wouldn't do it if I didn't think it would help," he said, waiting for his brother to respond.

Donnie clicked 'yes' to log off the computer, plunging the entire room into darkness as the screen went dead, yet his stare didn't leave the black display. He could sense an invisible wall growing between the two of them, emotionally parting them in the shadows. "I don't think music will be able to help you, Mikey," he softly said. "In fact, I don't think sleep'll come to us at all… at least not for a while."

Silence followed his statement, leaving the two of them alone with their thoughts. Michelangelo's eyes silently traveled to the floor, resting on nothing in particular. Slowly, the wall between the two of them grew wider, something the youngest turtle must have felt as well, because he suddenly looked up in stubbornness.

"It _might_ help," he insisted, locking his chestnut brown gaze on his brother.

Don turned his head to face his sibling, his eyes still getting accustomed to the sudden lack of light. Still, he could only make out the silhouette of his brother. "It won't make the pain go away," he simply said, staring at the bulky shape in the darkness.

Michelangelo stood frozen on the floor, as if contemplating the answer he had been given, yet his features showed no sign of emotion; they were blank. "Fine," he finally decided, turning around to leave the room. "Then I'll go ask Raph instead."

"You really think that's such a good idea," Donatello said in a low voice, still not moving in his chair.

The youngest turtle stopped in the doorway, his shell turned to his brother. "You don't think he'd help me?" he asked, his eyes traveling to rest on the platform floor.

Donatello sighed as he turned his chair around to be able to face his brother completely, tiredly rubbing his forehead with his right hand. "Honestly, Mike. If none of _us_ wants to set our foot inside his room, what makes you think Raph would?"

"...I dunno" the youngest answered after a few seconds of silence, still staring at the floor. "I just thought..." he trailed off in defeat, blowing out a deep sigh. "I dunno."

Donatello glanced at his lap for a moment, thinking about the behavior of his hotheaded brother, his reaction to Leonardo's death. It certainly hadn't been easy for any of them, but Raphael had taken it the hardest, even if he would never admit to it. The purple masked turtle sighed lightly and folded his hands in his lap, fidgeting with his fingers as he turned back to look at the turtle by the door. "Just… Mikey, he's a mess."

Mikey turned back to look at his sibling with a mixture of confusion and concern plastered on his naked features.

"I don't know," Don said, shaking his head to himself as he worked to put his feelings into words. "With him… It's like nothing's happened. I mean, it's been three weeks and he still hasn't talked about it."

"Well, maybe that's his way of dealing," Mike suggested, standing up for Raph like the loyal brother he was. "You know, like when Sensei died? He didn't mention him for months.."

"This is different," Donnie interrupted, shaking his head in protest. "This time, he's not dealing at _all_. It's like…" he trailed off, loosing his train of thought. Looking up at his brother with urgent eyes, he fought to get his message through to him. "Mikey, he won't even flinch when someone talks about him." Staring at his broken baby brother, the sadness in Don's eyes suddenly transformed. It was a different kind of sadness, a look of sorrow that was almost tangible, and perhaps more than anything: contagious.

Mike tiredly leaned his shell against the back wall of the carriage, staring at the ceiling as if looking for answers. He furrowed his eye ridges in frustration. "Maybe… maybe he just doesn't wanna listen?" he offered, fixating his gaze on Donatello.

"Well, shouldn't he at least be aff_ected_?" Don insisted, his worry radiating from his emotional gaze.

Once again, the room drifted off into silence, and Michelangelo sadly broke their eye contact, sitting down on the floor with his shell against the hard wall. He drew his knees close to him and rested his hands on top of them, cracking his fingers in a sure sign of uneasiness.

"God, Mikey, he was our _brother_," Don desperately filled in. "Shouldn't that stir some sort of emotion in him? _Any_ kind of emotion?"

Mike didn't answer the question, nor did he look up; he simply remained in the same position on the floor, cracking one finger after the other. But he didn't have to answer, because even though Donatello couldn't make out his eyes in the gloomy darkness, he still knew his words had hit home with his little brother.

* * *

Standing in the kitchen doorway with statuesque arms crossed over his chest, Raphael casually leaned his left shoulder against the metallic doorframe, the sharp edge cutting into his bulking muscle. A pair of static eyes peered right into the dark inside of his purple masked brother's sub car, directly across the platform; and protected by the shadows in the doorway, the kitchen light never reached the surface of his deep green skin, nor did the weak light coming from the small lamp in the living room.

He was stuck in a dark void between two worlds of brightness.

But even though the rays of light couldn't reach his face, it was quite obvious what knowledge hid behind his firm features. He had heard everything, everything from Mikey missing his Walkman to Donatello analyzing his behavior towards Leo's death. Either sub car walls were very thin, or the secluded silence in their home did wonders for eavesdropping. Whatever the reason was for Raph being able to catch his brothers' conversation, he was certainly glad he had. But most of all, he was pissed – and it was starting to show.

Straightening himself in the doorway, Raph took steady steps across the platform, his eyes locked on the open door to Don's darkened hideout. The dim living room light brought out the tense muscles on his body, speaking volumes of his growing anger as they contracted with his footsteps. The second he appeared in the doorway and were noticed by his younger brothers, he could feel the tension build up in the room like a hissing gas leak, intoxicating their senses with its sharp air. Even through the thick darkness, he could still see the sudden strike of fear in their eyes.

"What's the matta'?" he asked, sarcasm leading the way of his words. "Didn't think I was awake?" He shifted his gaze between his two siblings, the fire in his eyes nearly burning them in the darkness. Ashamed, Michelangelo lowered his surprised stare to the floor, while Don kept his eyes locked on the red masked turtle, never moving an inch in his chair, as if challenging him.

"What?" Raph insisted. "Juz a secon' ago, you couldn't stop talkin'. So, please, don't mind me."

Donnie remained in the same upright position in his chair, an overly causal expression posted on his face, unflinching at his brother's words. "If you came in here to fight," he said, calm and collected, "you might as well leave right away. I'm not arguing with you, Raph." The firm look in his eyes did nothing but prove the seriousness of his statement.

Raph let out a short snort of laughter, shaking his head in twisted amusement. "Shit, Donnie," he smiled loathingly. "Yer really somethin', ain'tcha? Too good ta give it to my face, but talkin' shit behind my back works juz fine." When locking his eyes on his brother, all signs of humor had been utterly abandoned, efficiently replaced with a look of strict anger.

"I didn't 'talk shit' behind your ba--"

"Don't fuckin' lie to my face!" Raphael outburst, his anger spreading through his body like cancer, corrupting it. "I heard ya, Donnie. I heard _all_ of it, so don't tell me you didn't go behind my back." Raph icily bore his eyes into his brother's, but no matter how hard he tried to mask it, there was still a glimpse of hurt soaring within their angry depths.

"I'm not gonna apologize for being worried about you, if that's what want," Don said, his voice as calm as a spring breeze, the softness of his words barely brusing against his lips as they blew past them.

"Worr_ied_?" Raph snorted in disbelief. "That's funny, cuz from where I was standin', it sounded more like judgmental _crap_."

"I've never judged you, Raph," Donatello said, calmly certain of his words. "And even if you can't see it, those were words of concern."

"Yeah well, I don't need yer concern, a'right?" Raph snapped, squinting his eyes in resentment. "So juz save yer sympathy pains fer someone else; I ain't broken. "

"You _should_ be," Don replied, disappointment visible in his stabbing gaze, piercing straight through the dense fog of darkness. "God, Raph, we lost a brother.. an-and if that doesn't just break your heart, I don't _what_ to say. Have you even noticed he's gone?" he asked, narrowing his eyes in desperation.

"The hell's that suppose ta mean?" Raph asked coldly, standing stiff next to a seated Mikey, who worriedly observed the conversation from the safety of the floor, almost like a cub watching his parents argue. 'Uncomfortable' would only be the beginning to describe his body language.

"You tell me," Donnie provoked, none of his emotions showing in his flat voice.

"Look," Raph began, taking an abrasive step closer to his brother as he threateningly pointed at him in the darkness. "Don't pull yer psychological bullshit on me! What, ye looked up my symptoms on the computer and found the solution to all my problems?" he mocked.

"Don't be stupid," Donnie said, not the least bit amused by the cruel joke.

"No, seriously, _Doc_," Raph emphasized, standing a few feet in front of his seated brother, towering over his smaller form in the darkness. "Tell me. I wanna know."

"Raph, c'mon," Mikey carefully spoke up from the floor, nervousness beginning to stir his limbs. "Just stop," he implored.

"No, Mike, I wanna hear this," Raphael insisted, not even turning around as he addressed his little brother, ignoring him as though he was nothing but a buzzing noise in the back of his head. Instead, he stared harder at Donatello, titling his head to his right shoulder. "So tell me, Don. What's my diagnosis?"

But there was no answer from Donatello, only controlled silence – and that only added more fuse to Raph's fury. "You think I'm in denial, is that it?" he asked tempestuously. "You think I need ta cry more? Have a fucking _breakdown_?" he yelled.

"Honestly, Raph.," Don spoke quietly, sorrow swimming in his mild eyes. "What am I supposed to think?" he asked, sadly. "I mean, what would _you_ think if you were in my position?"

"I'd mind my own business," Raph growled, speaking through gritted teeth.

"Raph, I'm serious," Donatello persisted, still not moving in his chair.

"So am I," Raph vowed, taking yet another step closer to his sibling, standing at a three feet's distance. "So juz back the hell off!"

"Lay off him, Raph," Michelangelo quickly cut in, stepping between the two of them with a pressing hand on Raphael's chest, guiding him backwards. "Seriously, we're just tryin' to help you," he insisted, searching Raph's burning eyes with his own, doing his best to calm him. "We lost him, too, y'know? And.. and it hurts like hell," he admitted, boring his sad stare into Raph's. "But Donnie's right," he sympathetically added. "If you don't deal with your pain--"

"Don't fuckin' talk ta me about pain, Mike!" Raph outburst, a new kind of anger flaring up in his eyes - a bitter kind of anger. "I was the one there, rememba'? Not you. He died in _my_ arms," he cried, a flat hand pointing to himself. "So don't lecture me on pain, cuz you weren't there, a'right? Ye wouldn't know the _first_ thing about i--"

"Jesus, Raph," Don shot up from his chair, pulling Michelangelo to himself and shielding him with his own body. "Get a hold of yourself," he urged, rebuking Raph with dark eyes. "None of us are against you," he ensured, standing close enough to feel Raph's frustrated breath on his face, their eyes locked with each other in the blackness, wavering back and forth because of to the short distance. "You don't have to convince us of anything; we know what happened. But unless you find a way deal with it, ther--"

"What?" Raph ballistically interrupted, creasing his eye ridges in outraged disarray. "You want me ta cry? Is that _it_? That make ya happy?" he violently questioned.

"I didn't say that," Donnie replied, his voice still low as he spoke, yet not as calm as it had been before.

"But that's what you want, isn't it?" Raphael angrily pressed, completely overtaken by his anger, suffocating in the sooty smoke of his own wrath. "You want me ta cry myself ta sleep like the rest of ya; wallow in my own self-pity. Would that get'cha off my back?" he wondered, lowering his bass voice to an almost unnerving level, his spite shining through in his piercing glare, nearly glowing in the darkness like the eyes of a wild predator.

"No one's asking you to cry," Donatello insisted, searching for his brother's buried humanity, trying to get past the thick veil of hatred he'd protected himself behind.

"No, you know what?" Raph suddenly lit up, his interest falling upon the youngest turtle, whose mask-less eyes instantly widened in worry. "I've got a better idea. How 'bout I get'cha that damn Walkman you complained about? Huh?" he sadistically suggested, his stabbing eyes locked on Michelangelo. "Turned his fuckin' _room_ upside down! Would that be enough dealin' for ya?" he clamored, yelling at the both of them.

"Would you give it a rest, Raph!" Don exclaimed and stepped closer to his outraged brother to grab him by his shoulders, demanding his attention with physical force. "We don't want you to _prove_ anything," he asserted, doing his very best to spell it out load and clear.

"No, I'll go and get it for ya," Raph reiterated, his brother's urgent words falling on deaf ears. "Where'd he put it?" he asked, stepping past Donnie to be able to look at his youngest brother properly, standing by himself in the darkness, dread painting his naked features.

"Raph, c'mon," Mikey said, almost pleadingly. "You're being ridiculous."

"Where?" Raph rigidly repeated, threatening his brother with his eyes while at the same time ordering him with his voice.

A few undisturbed seconds passed in the darkness - each brother staring intently at the other - not even exchanging words with their eyes, as if the moment had truly been frozen in time, suspended.

Finally, Mikey broke down with a stern voice, his eyes radiating the bitter look of defeat, "…his nightstand."

It didn't even take a second for Raphael to storm out of the room, his strong footsteps echoing down the platform to the fallen brother's untouched sub car; and left in the darkness stood Mike and Donnie, exchanging weary looks of sorrow.

* * *

With anger reaching all the way to his fingertips, Raph violently pulled the old sub car doors open. A heavy sound of rusty metal erupted in his ears once the shaky doors connected with the old walls of the carriage, as if the entire ceiling would collapse. The car was parked closest to their entrance, which also meant that it was the furthest away from the small living room lamp, leaving it in thick, pitch-black darkness.

Raphael blindly flicked the light switch on the wall to his left, watching as the fluorescent tubes weakly flickered to life, only two out of six staying lit once the blinking finally died down. However, it was enough to illuminate the inside of the rectangular shaped carriage, which looked just like it had before he was killed, apart from the layers of dust that covered every surface. A majestic although slightly splintered mahogany desk stood on the wall to his right, and on top of it stood a neglected plant, cruelly left to its withering fate, its only company the pile of yellow, dry leaves that surrounded it. Lined against the other wall were three sets of narrow bookcases, filled with the late leader's belongings. Two of the shelves carried books and Japanese ornaments, while the third had a portable stereo player on its middle shelf, surrounded by a few stocks of burned CDs. Lying on the upper planes was his stack of ninjistu weaponry; tons of shurikens scattered across the worn, pinewood surface.

In the left corner of the carriage, directly under one of the fluorescent tubes, a wide mattress laid against the wall. Old, light blue covers were neatly spread across the bed, with two white pillows buried underneath it. The eldest had always made his bed. In fact, he was probably the only brother to have done so everyday – and apparently, his last day had been no exception.

Standing next to the mattress, only a few inches from the bed, was Raphael's reason for coming – the nightstand table. It was a small, black painted furniture, shaped like a miniature table with a single drawer placed underneath the plane top. Standing on top of the bedside table was a flat digital clock and a large, mint green candle, rooted to its porcelain plate by the frozen puddle of candle wax.

Raph passively approached the furniture and bent over to look for the Walkman, but the only thing he could find next to the alarm clock was a tiny box of matches. He grunted in annoyance and pulled the delicate drawer open, almost unlatching it from its track. The things inside the drawer clattered chaotically once it was forced to a violent halt. Irritated, Raph began to rummage through his brother's belongings. He found several sets of pencils, a deck of cards and a few batteries – but no Walkman; and just when he was about to give up and slam the drawer shut, a neatly folded piece of paper instinctively caught his eye. While willing to admit that it sounded incredibly weird, Raph felt like he'd seen that note somewhere before, almost like a déjà vu.

Unable to stop himself, as if drawn in by an invisible pull, Raph reached inside the drawer and grabbed the slim note between his thumb and two fingers. He curiously turned it over to survey the other side, discovering the following words written in blue ink:

_To my Beloved Brothers_

That sentence alone struck a chord so powerful, Raph was forced to sit down on the mattress next to him, because he suddenly knew where he'd seen the note; he _knew_.

It had been eight months ago, almost eight months to the date, and the note had been lying on the floor of his dead Sensei's sub car – right in front of his big brother. And that was all it took for his memories to attack him, charge at him like a pack of hungry animals that had been waiting for him to drop his guard and leave himself vulnerable to their crushing teeth. He was then destructively assaulted by visions of the night Leo had attempted to kill himself, visions he would rather erase altogether.

But he couldn't. He was completely paralyzed, and the only thing working was his mind's eye.

He saw flashes of his brother's shadow as it danced across the sub car wall, swaying back and forth in tune with the flickering candles, and he saw the sharp gleam of the wakizashi that laid unsheathed in front of him. He saw his brother's shameful expression once he turned around to look at him, and he remembered his tired words of apology.

_I'm sorry._

_You weren't supposed to see this._

He saw Leonardo's fleeing form exit the sub car in panic after he'd confessed he didn't want to live anymore, and he remembered to sound of water splashing around his calves as he chased him down the dark sewer tunnels.

_Leo, stop!_

He saw the look of complete and embodied hopelessness on his brother's face, and he remembered the sensation of slamming his fist into it, an aftertaste of justice coursing through his veins.

_The hell's wrong with you? You've got people that care about you! You've got a family; people that love you. **I** love you! How the fuck can you stand here in front of me and say somethin' like that?_

Clutching the note in his hand, Raphael remembered his offer to help his brother, and – perhaps more than anything – he recalled the feel of Leo's wet hand in his own, gripping it as he allowed Raph to help him stand. He had never felt closer to him, and relief had never tasted any sweeter than it did in that moment. Because there had been a silent agreement made between the two of them that night. His brother had promised to pick himself up from the bottom and fight for his life, for his will to live.

He'd promised not to ever give up.

_Then why the hell did ya? _Raph silently asked himself, his eyes burning with banished tears, tears he wouldn't allow to fall, even now. Because his brother didn't deserve them, he didn't deserve his pain and his thoughts. He had given him so much already – and all of it had been for nothing.

He had done everything for him! _Every_thing!

He had kept his damn secret, even after he died, and he had given him his unconditional support and understanding. He even babysat him for seven months, seven long moths of mind-boggling worry, fearing he would slip back into his old thoughts and do something stupid. And in the end, Leonardo had thrown it all away the instant he stepped in front of that gun.

But what hurt the most - what _really_ drove the knife through his heart - was the sense of peace he saw in his brother's eyes just before he died. It had been the look of restored honor, as if he hadn't cared that he would die… as if it hadn't mattered. Of course, Raph knew his brother had done it for _him_. He'd unselfishly given his own life for him, and there was no shame in that. But he was damn well allowed to be angry with him for doing it!

Feeling as though his chest was collapsing under the crushing weight of a truck, Raph turned back to look at the folded piece of paper in his hands. He knew what was written inside of it, he knew the big picture of it, but for some reason he needed to read the _exact_ words, if only just to hear his brother's voice one last time.

Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, he slowly slid his thumb inside the note and flipped it open, exposing Leo's handwritten words at the very center of the clean sheet of paper.

It was a waka poem - a _suicide_ poem – one that was essential to the rather complex ritual of seppuku. It was no longer than five units long, and it was important that it didn't mention the fact that the man holding the pencil was about to take his life. The poem was meant to be graceful - not gory, and as soon as Raph read its first word, he realized he was fighting a loosing battle.

By the time he reached the end of the poem, hot tears already streamed down his cheeks, some of them even staining the clean sheet of paper in his hands. The salt in the tears quickly sunk into the thin material and molded with the blue ink of the words, disfiguring them.

Sobbing silently, Raphael dropped the poem to save it from being tainted by more of his tears, leaving it next to him on the mattress. Then, with eyes squeezed shut in desperate search of control, Raph did his best to choke his sobs, burying his heated face in his hands. But no matter how hard he fought to hide his sobs and his tears from the world, he still couldn't keep his shoulders from jumping, his twitching muscles absorbing the pain he'd done his best to suppress.

It was useless now; the gates were kicked open and there was nothing left to do but to empty them, nothing left but taking that first, giant step of grief.

Lying on the bed next to him, unfolded on top of the light blue sheets, was the cause of all his tears - the key that had unlocked the gates and unleashed his emotions. Donatello and Michelangelo had cried and begged for him to open up, screamed at him in search of his soul – all to no avail. Yet all it took was a few words from the oldest turtle. Even in death, his big brother had managed to take his hand and guide him back into the light. Those words had truly been his savior. But it was up to him and his remaining two brothers to live up to them, because they only had each other – and that was something neither of them could afford to lose.

_The warmth of the sun  
Can dry your tears tomorrow,  
Where whispers of love  
Will echo of yesterdays  
And you shall stand united_

_- Leonardo_

_---_

**The End**


End file.
